Dragonsoul
by Iron Stag
Summary: Skyrim is rebuilding after the events of the Draugr war, and everything seems to be improving. But when the Emperor is mysteriously murdered, Lords and Nobles squabble over rule of the Empire and who will sit on the Dragon Throne. Meanwhile, an organization of Elven overlords weave the strings to bring about the fall of the empire, and a new age. *Sequel to "Dragonfire"*
1. Prologue

**Halt! You've violated the law! OH...your clueless aren't you? well let me begin by saying that this story is the sequel to another story titled "Dragonfire" that you may or may not have heard of. In order to spare you the confusion of 'what is this?' and 'who the heck is that?' I have come to forwearn you that it would be most unwise to continue reading this story without first reading Dragonfire. **

Prologue

He hid in the darkness, keeping out of sight.

Rian didn't want anyone to see him, and likely nobody would. He was one with the shadows, hidden in places that most would be in plain sight. The Imperial city Bastion was full of dark corners and hallways that people scarcely walked through. Not only that, but being a Dark Elf and an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood gave him the ability to be hidden where most would be visible.

_Now I must find Amaund. _The contract had been from a Breton named Amaund Motierre, and Rian had been the one chosen for the job. Nobody else at the Sanctuary could do it, just him. Nobody matched his skill; he was the best, fit for the largest contract the Brotherhood has seen in years.

_He should be around here somewhere. _Rian thought, his grey skin concealing him. His red eyes were a problem however, as one could see them in the darkness. Rian had to close them when someone came by, but aside from that he was never detected by the guards or politicians.

He crept out from the dark corner, making sure that nobody was around, and then getting back on his feet and standing up straight. Amaund should be coming at any moment, unless he was late. _He better not keep me waiting._

Rian had been shorter than most Dark elves, in fact he was around the same height as most Nords, but lacked their muscle and brute strength. His face harbored an impatient look; and a frown seemed to always be upon it. He had a beard that did not stretch out past his chin, and his hair was long as well. He looked like any Dark elf.

_Where is he? _He was growing impatient as always, Amaund should have arrived by now. Had something gone wrong? _He better not have forgotten…no, that can't be it…who forgets they have a contract with the Dark Brotherhood? _It was a preposterous thought; nobody would leave the Dark Brotherhood hanging. _If he doesn't come soon, then I will have no choice but to leave. _If he stayed much longer he had the chance of getting caught.

Then, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. He bolted towards the dark corner again, waiting to see if it was Amaund. _It better be him, Sithis demands a life. _Rian would not wait much longer, and he watched as the figure turned the corner and was in his line of sight. _A guard. _

He kept very still, not wanting to attract the guard's attention. _Damn Motierre, he better get here very soon. _The man passed by without giving Rian a glance, and kept on walking. Rian's hand coursed over the hilt of his dagger, ready to pull it out and give the guard's life to the void if necessary.

Not long after more footsteps came, and Rian had already unsheathed his dagger this time. His eyes were locked on the entrance to the hallway, waiting to strike if anyone saw him. He readied himself to spring up at any moment. But the person who came by was the one he had been waiting for. _Made me wait long enough. _

He stood up again, and looked at the hooded man before him. Even concealed Rian was not fooled by the identity of the man. Amaund approached him slowly, as if hesitant at what he was about to do. But Rian went faster, growing impatient at all the waiting and slow motion. _I just want to get this over with and then get a bite to eat. Gods know I'm hungry._

"Did you bring it?" Rian asked.

"Of course," Amaund Motierre said, pulling out a small drought of liquid from his pocket. "Here, that should work well enough."

"We will find out soon." Rian replied, "If not, I'm afraid that the Emperor might survive this encounter."

"Poison or not, if I paid you to kill Titus, then I want him dead." Amaund seemed to be slightly angered. _Let him be angry, it matters not to me._

"Your contract will be fulfilled; you need not worry about that." Rian said.

"I hope so," Amaund said as Rian took the poison. "Allalian is counting on me to get this done, and I will. One does not want the Aldmeri Dominion as an enemy."

"Indeed, or else I may receive another contract asking for your life as well." Rian threatened.

"Do the job right and you won't be burdened with that." Amaund said.

"You paid the Brotherhood for a death, and a death you shall receive." Rian said, and he could see Amaund shutter. "Do I intimidate you that much? Not yours, the Emperors. That is what you paid for after all."

"Of course, of course…" Amaund repeated. "Just get this done quickly, the Dominion wants Titus dead as soon as possible, and I mean to do just that."

"Anyone else you would like me to kill as well?" Rian asked, "It will cost you extra though."

"Just kill the Emperor and get this over with." Amaund began, "The Dominion is already working on eradicating all of Mede's possible heirs. The last thing we need is them ruining everything."

"Alright then, I will go at once." Rian said.

"A session has just ended, so he should be in his chambers." Amaund began, "Do it quietly, and if anyone else is in there then wait for them to leave. I don't want any more blood on my hands."

"The blood is not on _your _hands, Motierre, they're on mine." Rian said, before briskly walking away from the Elder council member.

He didn't turn back, he just kept going forward. Rian didn't know whether Amaund was following, although he seriously doubted it. _I wonder what the Dominion is planning. _Rian thought, _whatever it is, it's been a long time coming. _People all over Tamriel had been talking about the second Great War ever since the first one ended. Titus himself had been too paranoid to send more men to the rebellion in Skyrim. And from what he had heard, many were surprised he sent as many men to Skyrim during the war with the Draugr.

_Whatever the Dominion wants, they need an Emperor out of the picture to do it. _Amaund had said that the Dominion was targeting all of Mede's heirs as well. _His family, and close friends will be in danger. And the Dragonborn as well…_word had spread fast ever since it happened that the Dragonborn had been named the heir to the throne. _All the Dominion needs to do is kill him, and it will be all out war for the Throne. _

He moved slowly, making sure that nobody was around to hear his footsteps. Soon, he identified the stairs, and quickly bolted towards them. Nobody was in the halls, so perhaps the Elder council was having a meeting. _Have they noticed Motierre is gone? _

He climbed up, wasting no time. He had to get this contract fulfilled and get out of there as soon as possible. He went up speedily, feeling no fatigue in the beginning. He had been trained to outrun guards and enemies of all kinds in order to join the Brotherhood, these stairs would not tire him. Yet when he realized he was nowhere near the top, his legs began to feel weary, and he slowed down. _That was a whole lot of stairs…but I'm almost there. _And when he made it to the top, he saw the large wooden door that he knew was the Emperor's.

_Here it is. _His hand caressed the door knob, twisting it very slowly, not wanting to make a sound. He could hear two voices inside, which meant that Titus was not alone. _I'll have to wait for one to leave. _He pulled the door open, and took a few light steps inside.

"Now that the Draugr are all gone, how many of the men will be kept in Skyrim?" one of the men said.

"Enough to fortify the forts, I suppose. I gave General Rikke the responsibility of stationing the men." the voice that sounded like the Emperor said.

"How many are there now?"

"Fifteen-thousand at the most, enough to defend the province against another mysterious threat until we are able to send aid. But also not too much that we can't defend our own borders." Titus Mede II said.

"Good enough, it should prove useful in case more of those Draugr show up." The voice said, "First the rebellion, then the Dragons, then the Draugr. Skyrim has been having a tough time lately."

"Well, I'm sure they will be safe now that the Dragonborn has returned." Titus said.

"Why did he spend so much time here in Cyrodiil?" the voice asked.

"He had business to attend to as my heir, mainly meeting the commanders and generals of the Legion. I also wanted him to stay in Cyrodiil for a while, that way he gets a feel of what his new home will be like once he takes the Throne." Titus replied.

"He will never live up to the mantle of the Septim rulers."

"Nobody can," the Emperor replied. "The Septims built this empire, and saved the world countless times. Tamriel would not be the same without them."

"Aye, your right. I just hope that this new Dragonborn can bring glory to the Empire."

"He will, I have faith in him." Titus began, "Besides, even if he is not the greatest of rulers, he is still Dragonborn, and the Dragon Throne was meant for one of his kind to sit it."

"You are right there," the voice said. "If he can absorb the souls of dragons, then he can be a decent ruler."

"Aye." Were Titus' last words to the man, before he bid his farewells and the stranger went to the door. Rian hid behind a wooden dresser, and kept his hand on his dagger, opening the bottle of poison and dropping some on the tip of his blade. He would have to do this quickly; else the chance would escape him.

He waited for the man to open the door, and stood silent for around a minute afterwards. Rian wanted him to be out of range to hear what was going on. When he thought the coast was clear, he crept behind the dresser, peeking his head out to see the Emperor at his desk with scrolls on it. Rian readied himself.

He sprinted forward.

Titus Mede II didn't cry out in fear, nor did he scream in terror, he just looked at Rain as he charged forward. As if to say, "I knew this was coming." The Dark elf did not hesitate however, and shot out his hand to grab the Emperor's head. He struggled and thrashed about, but Rian's grasp was strong. He did not let go, and yanked his head back, and with one stroke let his dagger slide against the Emperor's throat.

When it was all done, Rian wiped the blood on his hands upon the rich clothes of the Emperor's dead corpse. _He didn't even try to flee. _Rian thought, _He stared death in the eye without fear. _Rian had gained a newfound respect for the man even as he left this dead corpse, and out of the door.

**Hope it was decent, as I enjoyed writing this chapter.**

**This story takes place around seven months after Dragonfire.**

** Tell me what you thought, was it a decent opening? What is the Dominion planning? Tell me what you think in the…review **


	2. Valor

Valor

Lakeview Manor had been untouched by the war with the Draugr, in matter of fact; Falkreath itself had been safe from having to deal with the Draugr threat. They were lucky that they did not have to partake in the greatest war ever seen in Skyrim's history. _It made the rebellion look like a game._

His boots dug into the dirt as he took one final step and looked at his home. He had not been here in years, yet he remembered when it was built like it was only yesterday. Valor had paid workers to construct the mansion that he had always wanted when he was a child, and they had delivered in every aspect. The craftsmanship was excellent, with straight edges and fine towers. Even the stables and fences outside seemed intact. _But no horse, she must have run away when she realized I was not returning._

The house brought back memories, as it was the first piece of real-estate he had ever owned. The house in Whiterun was cheap, but Valor never fancied its style, and even if he did want one, it was burned to ash by the Draugr. Whiterun now stood as the reminder of the terrible events of the Draugr war, and few ever traveled there again.

_Alianor and I use to live here too. _The memory still saddened him, and flashbacks of her death would haunt him occasionally. Valor would tell himself that it was not his fault, that she had left him. How was he supposed to know the woman behind the helmet was her? Yet still he couldn't help but feel guilty. _She left me without an explanation, and joined the Stormcloaks. It's not my fault._

He felt someone grab his hand, and turned to find Serana standing next to him. She had ditched her Royal Vampire armor, choosing to instead be clad in simple traveler's clothes. Her hair had been completely let down, falling below her shoulders. _She looks amazing. _Her hand was warm, a still odd feeling to Valor after all this time. _Both of our hands were cold once, we both were vampires. _It was not the proudest moment in Valor's life, but it was worth it if it meant being around Serana.

_That was the real reason, wasn't it? _He asked himself. True, he had willingly become a vampire in order to spy on Harkon and report his doings, but the reality was that he wanted to be around Serana. To learn more about her, to grow closer with her. _It was the right choice. _

"Daydreaming about me again?" Serana asked.

"No…" Valor's answer was partially true, as he wasn't thinking about her until she was in sight. "I was thinking about many things."

"Like what?" Serana asked.

"The house, and the memories I had here." Valor would not mention Alianor, as he had never even told Serana about her. _That would be an awkward conversation. To tell the woman you loved that you killed the last woman you loved, and still think about it and feel guilty years later._

"You've never been here before, right?" Valor asked.

"Not once, but you've talked about it." Serana said, "It's big, not as big as the Castle, but it's big."

"Not many buildings in Skyrim are bigger than Castle Volkihar." Valor said.

"Your right about that." Serana agreed, suddenly donning a playful smile. "C'mon, I want to see what it looks like." She quickly walked forward, arriving closer to the door. Valor followed, not remembering if he had a key or not.

"Uh…I don't think I have a key." Valor admitted.

Serana frowned, and gave him a serious look. "Really?" Valor nodded his head.

Her hand grabbed the door knob and turned it, soon showing Valor that the door had been unlocked the whole time. "Oh…" managed to escape Valor's lips, yet he had nothing else to say. Serana simply laughed, and when the door was finally open she walked inside. Valor tried to keep up.

He had arrived inside not long after, and was surprised to see that everything was still intact. _Nobody has robbed the place, and it hasn't burned down either. _Valor was surprised that with an unlocked door, that looters or thieves hadn't come and stolen everything.

Inside it looked like a normal home; there was a spot for a hearth, yet no fire was lit. There was no food on the tables, as Valor had preferred not to eat inside. Having tables outside for that purpose. Although there was still a large dining table inside the main corridor, the main purpose being if Valor had brought a party or group with him. The alchemy station was untouched, and he heard no sounds except for his and Serana's footsteps. _Were alone, good. _A robber or someone living in his house while he was gone could be inside, and that only meant danger.

Serana wasted no time speaking with Valor; instead she turned left towards the armory, and quickly opened the doors. Valor caught up, and he saw her astonished face when she looked upon the array of weapons upon the racks and in the display cases. Swords, axes, maces, shields, armor, everything was kept on a mannequin, rack, or in a case.

"You have a lot of weapons." Serana pointed out.

"I've been on a lot of adventures." Valor said, "And found many weapons."

"You sure have," she said. "Do you really need that many?"

"Yes." Was all the Valor said, before he left her and went up the small set of stairs. They were made of wood, and creaked slightly while he went up, yet it did not take long for him to be upon the second floor. He could hear Serana scurrying to catch up, trying to follow him. He stopped before the large double bed, and the weapon rack across from it.

He went up to it, the blade bringing back so many memories that Valor didn't want to remember but just simply couldn't let go of. It was made of steel, and had been a gift from Eorlund Grey-Mane when he ascended as Harbinger. It was double sided, and sharp. _As sharp as Fralia's tongue. _Valor chuckled slightly, but stopped knowing that Eorlund had been killed during the destruction of Whiterun. _I killed Alduin with this blade. _

Serana had joined him, and Valor turned towards her. "The bedroom." Valor began, "Were going to be spending a lot of time in here." He smirked.

Serana punched him very lightly in the shoulder, "Oh lord…"

"What?" Valor asked. "Titus said 'Get started' and if I'm going to start a line of Emperor's then I'm going to need the cooperation of someone else."

"I can't believe you just said that…" Serana tried not to laugh, but failed.

"I'm just trying to do my duty to the realm. The land wants another line of Dragonborn Emperors, and they don't just pop out of thin air."

"Stop begging." Serana started to walk away, but stopped herself.

"Not begging, just offering a possible suggestion." Valor said.

"Whatever," Serana said.

Valor left it at that, and turned his attention back to the blade. His hand coursed the hilt, and he wanted nothing more than to hold it in his hands, to best someone in battle with it. But his thoughts were interrupted by Serana, who tapped him on the shoulder.

"We need some water," Serana said. "There's none here, you should go get some."

"Why do I have to go get it?" Valor asked, sounding like a child.

"Because you're the man in the house," Serana began. "Or at least that's what I thought."

"Fine, I'll go." He slowly walked down to the first floor. He searched for a bucket, or something to carry some water in. There was a lake down the hills, and it was only a five minute walk. _Now that I think about it, I am thirsty. _

He found one right next to a table, and grabbed it quickly. He did not want to be out too long, since he was starting to get hungry. He headed towards the door, and turned the knob, pushing the door open. Falkreath greeted him with the heat of the sun, and he turned to the lake down below. Once he got past the trees, he could see the water. It was a wide lake, and branched out into a river that headed towards a mill not a few miles from his location.

Valor walked quickly down the hill, getting closer and closer to the water with every step. The bucket swayed in his grasp as he walked forward quickly, stopping every now and then to admire the scenery. Falkreath was a beautiful land, and with it not taking part in the Draugr war it had not been scathes or damaged by the old enemy. _Good, enough lives were taken. _

Eventually he had made his way down to the lake, and slowly went forward, bending down in order to dip the bucket in the shallow side of the waters. It was quite cool, and Valor was tempted to drink some now. But he stopped himself; there was no need to risk contracting a disease from these unclean waters.

He heard a rustle in the bushes not far away, and dismissed it as a fox or a rabbit. He paid it no mind, and withdrew the bucket from the water, satisfied with the amount he had. He heard the rustle again, and turned to the bushes, and saw nothing. _It's nothing. _He thought, until an arrow flew past him.

He immediately turned his attention back to the bushes, he had no sword, but he did have the few spells he remembered from the College of Winterhold. He activated his lightning bolt spell and dropped the bucket, wondering who had tried to shoot him. _That was an elven arrow._

Then another arrow came forth, and this time Valor did not dodge it. It pierced him straight in the leg, and he immediately fell to his knee. "Agh!" he grunted, and then he shot a lightning bolt into the bush, hoping he hot something.

Then several figures sprinted out from the bushes, and Valor identified them as Thalmor soldiers._ Why are they attacking me? _Valor thought, but he had no more time to wonder. They rushed towards him, and he struggled to rise. _They followed me. _He realized, _but why?_

He channeled more energy, and sent another lightning bolt at the closest one. Thankfully for him the blast landed, knocking the High Elf back, his sword thudded against the ground, and Valor did his best to walk towards it.

Two more elves were coming for him; one had sent a strike at his chest. Valor tried to leap back like he normally would, but his leg hurt too much to handle, and the elf's blade sliced him across the chest. Valor fell back, his hands feeling the gash in his chest. _No…no…I can't die here. _He kept on thinking, rolling to the left as the elf tried to swing his blade down and deal the last strike. The second elf was quickly approaching as well, Valor had to do something.

The next time the elf brought elf blade down, Valor managed to land a kick at his hands, causing his opponent to drop his sword. Valor's hand shot out to grab the hilt, and before the elf could do anything he had thrust it forward and pierced right through the Justiciars neck.

The body of the first high elf fell, but the second was coming. Valor didn't even attempt to rise this time, and when the elf was about to launch a spell, Valor had sent his first. The crack of lightning jolting forward to meet at the elf's head. Valor knew he had killed him, and he tried to get up and head to the house. _I should have worn my armor. _He thought, trying to run.

He fell flat on his face, and cried out in pain at that moment. He could hear the sounds of shouting, and looked upward to try to crawl. Then he rolled over, and grabbed the end of the arrow and with all his strength yanked it out. The pain was like something he had never felt, yet he was relieved when it was done. He still could not walk _well_ however, but he could try.

He dealt with the pain, the sword still in his hand. _Serana's in danger, I know. _He heard voices, and shouting coming from the house, he had to get there in time. He then began to jog, slowly, but then faster. Until eventually he hobbled over to the home, and found the door open.

He went inside at once, and saw Serana in a scramble with an elven warrior. He swung his blade to and fro, trying to hit Serana, but she was too quick. Valor went forward, neither of the two noticing his presence. Then, the elf had grabbed Serana by the hair, and was pulling her forward. But Valor was already behind him, and his hand pushed the elf's head back, and in one motion he slit his enemy's throat.

After it was done he went down, about to fall, but Serana caught him, and held Valor up. "Who are they? What were they doing here?"

But Valor had no response, his vision was blurring. _My chest…I'm losing too much blood.. _His hand stretched forward, "My chest…" and Serana looked down and gasped. Somehow she had not noticed the entire time. She helped him walk, and Valor remembered her saying, "We need to get you a potion!" but he could barely hear, he could barely see either. And the last thing he saw was Serana rushing around in a hurry, before the black of darkness met him.

**Hope you guys like this chapter, as I enjoyed writing it.**

** The Dominion tried to kill Valor? Will they succeed and end his life? Will Valor survive? Let me know you're thought **


	3. Yeerlin

Yeerlin

The Thalmor embassy was cold, very cold, yet Yeerlin did not mind it. All of Skyrim was cold, and if he was to survive in this land, he would have to grow use to it. _The Nords deal with it, so can I._

He had not wanted to come to Skyrim, but Allalian, Mekai, and the rest of the leaders of the Aldmeri Dominion had insisted. He had been told that Skyrim was a beautiful land, full of forests, mountains, lakes, and anything in between, yet all he saw was snow. _Snow, snow, and more snow, is there anything else out here?_

Yeerlin was exceptionally tall, even for an elf. He was clad in the High Elven Thalmor robes, with a hood over his face to conceal the long hair he had underneath. His skin was darker than most of the Altmer ancestry, his gold skin a different shade than most of his kind. The Elves of the Embassy had a decent respect for him, yet it was nothing substantial, as most of them didn't even know him. But he didn't mind, as long as they gave the occasional 'sir' when he passed by, he was content.

Elenwen had been easy to work with, yet she lately she had sent several Justiciars on a secret mission that everyone but Yeerlin had not been informed of. He had not approved, as an action such as that combined with the death of the Emperor would result in war all across Cyrodiil. _Unless the Imperials could act civil…but they never do. _Yeerlin could only wonder whether this was all part of some plan he had not been informed of. _What was the real reason they sent me here?_

He paced along the small stone walls, heading for the stairs. The embassy was small, with only three building; the barracks, the actual embassy, and Elenwen's solar. There was a wide amount of space however in the courtyard, in which many of the lower ranked Thalmor agents and Justiciars would wonder while they were not on duty. Yeerlin passed a few on the way, receiving a curt nod and, "Sir." Just what he wanted to hear.

But one of them looked to have the intent to want to speak with him. Yeerlin could see the Justiciar walking quickly, as if in a rush. But the Thalmor wizard made no attempt to notice him, as Yeerlin had a hunch that he was not actually looking at _him, _but perhaps someone nearby.

"Sir!" he called out, "Yeerlin, sir!"

"What do you want?" Yeerlin asked when the elf came closer.

"It's Lady Elenwen; she demands your presence at once."

"Demands?" Yeerlin was surprised, had he been in the Summerset Isles, he definitely would not have been treated like this, being summoned on the whim of Elenwen. "And why does she require my presence?"

"I am not entirely sure," he began. "I believe it concerns the Dragonborn, sir."

"The Dragonborn?" Yeerlin said. He had heard tales of the Dragonborn even in the Summerset Isles, of how he could devour the souls of slain dragons, that they made him stronger. When Yeerlin had learned the news of the rebellion in Skyrim, he had suspected that General Tullius had come up with some great plan, but instead he heard 'It was the Dragonborn, he won the war.'

"Yes sir, and I would hurry, she seemed very upset when I left the solar." The soldier said, before giving Yeerlin a nod and heading towards the barracks. Yeerlin kept his eyes forward and went along, his destination a door along the fence that would lead him to the second courtyard.

His long steps took him there, and he pushed the door open only to reveal more soldiers and agents, along with even a few wizards. Yeerlin casually walked by them, paying them no mind. He had soon found himself going up the very small set of stairs that would lead to Elenwen's own building. His golden hand grasped the handle and pushed it lightly, revealing the well lit room inside. Several candles were placed in corners or atop counters. A few loaves of bread were on tables as well, and he could hear no sounds except for the rustling of papers.

He walked the same path he did often, his destination being Elenwen's desk. She would often be found there messing with papers, scrolls, or other duties required from her as the ambassador for the Thalmor's relations in Skyrim. And that was where he found her. She looked attractive, yet she was aging, as any person did eventually. Her golden skin was considerably lighter than Yeerlin's own, yet their hair shared the same blonde color. She looked up at him with a frown. _Now she's going to take her anger out on me. _

"They are not back yet!" she yelled.

"Who?" Yeerlin asked.

"The group of Justiciars I sent out a month ago! They should have returned several days before, yet they have not arrived!" Elenwen shouted.

"What was their objective?"

"They were sent…to kill the Dragonborn." Elenwen hesitated at first, "Along with the woman, so that there can be no possibility of a son or daughter."

"Why?" Yeerlin asked.

"To get rid of the Emperor's heir! Without him, it will chaos in Cyrodiil as to who the Throne will pass to. Think about it, the Mede's came to power when Titus Mede I sacked the Imperial City in order to solidify his claim. If we can get Cyrodiil to fight each other, then the second Great War will be a guaranteed victory for the Dominion."

"What of Titus' brother? If the Dragonborn is dead or not, the Throne will pass to him." Yeerlin pointed out.

"I have already sent men out to deal with him, but even so. The people of Cyrodiil will think that if _Titus _wouldn't even pick his own brother to rule, then why should they? It will be a long ordeal as to who will have the Dragon Throne, and when the Empire is about to collapse on itself, _we _will step in and take control of Tamriel."

"But you can't do that if an heir still lives." Yeerlin recognized.

"Exactly, and if the Dragonborn does not die, there is still an heir." Elenwen began to calm down.

"Well, what are you going to do?" Yeerlin said.

"The men should have been following him for weeks, and I have no idea where he is now. I have no choice; I will have to send a letter to the Elder Council stating he has been killed."

"You're going to lie to them?" Yeerlin didn't believe it.

"I have no other choice, and it's not like they are going to find out. Even if the Elder council believes him to be alive, it will not stop the Lords and Nobles of Cyrodiil from laying their claim." Elenwen seemed as if a smirk was creeping on her face. "The more powerful Lords will lust for the Throne whether proof of this accusation is supplied or not. Although I can't write it in my name, it will be too suspicious."

"You're making a big move here; it could decide the fate of Tamriel."

"I know." Elenwen grabbed the bottle of ink and a quill, and went to work on the nearest blank piece of parchment. She wrote one, then another, and another, and Yeerlin wondered who they were sent towards. But she could see the penname, what she was going by. _High Queen Elisif. _

**SHort, I know, but important. Hope it was decent.**

**REVIEW!**


	4. Simon

Simon

The halls of the Deadwater had been long, with statues of Skeletons, knights long gone from this world, and much more. Yet Simon feared none of these things, he had served the Lord of the Deadwater for almost a decade, ever since he came in possession of it after the White-Gold Concordat was signed. Titus Mede II thought it was only proper to give his only brother the last free Castle in Cyrodiil.

It was near the shores, only around a few miles from Anvil. The water outside had an odd green color, replacing the blue that one would often find in large bodies of water. No fish or sea creatures lived there, thus it was known as the Deadwater. _A fitting place for Althalos, even if he didn't choose it._

Simon had taken an oath long ago to serve Lord Althalos, at Titus Mede's command. He had been there at Anvil when it was being held against the Dominion, and had served Lord Althalos then, and he still served him now, years later. _He becomes more senile by the second; it is increasingly getting harder and harder to counsel him. _Lord Althalos had not been the friendliest of people, especially when in an argument. _Only to his wife does he show gratitude, and who knows how long that will last?_

He paced down the halls, taking a look inside the occasional room and corridor he would pass by. There were a few that were empty, but some harbored soldiers, servants, and others. But Simon's destination was none of these rooms, but the one at the far end of the hallway. There he would chance upon the private rooms of the Court-Wizard, who had apparently needed his presence.

Simon had been sitting in his own chambers when a small servant boy had come up to him saying that Feldren needed assistance at once. Simon did not know what the man needed, but it must be of some importance if he had sent for Simon. Lord Althalos' chief advisor did not focus his attention on minor things, those areas were meant for the Steward.

Finally he had found himself reaching the door that would lead him to his target. It was a small door, but was large enough to allow Simon's tall body to get through. His long arms stretched outwards to grasp the door knob, and while opening it he walked inside. His long brown hair swinging lightly as he did so. He looked the average Imperial, yet some mistook him for a Breton.

His steps were quiet, as he did not want to come barging in. The room was small, so he could see Feldren sitting near his desk, a pile of scrolls and other wares important for a Court-Wizard. One could not see most of his face with his hood on, but Feldren was a Breton, skilled in the arcane arts. _But his practice of Necromancy is well known. _Simon had never minded Feldren's practices, so long as he was kept out of them.

"Ah, Simon, there you are." He said, immediately putting away the scrolls he was reading. "I had hoped you would come sooner, what took you so long?"

"The halls of the Deadwater are long, you know that." Simon began, "Not only that, but I was distracted by the statues."

"Of the Skeletons and the knights?" Feldren asked. "Pay them no mind, when the Castle was built, it was meant to serve as a memorial to the majesty of the fallen at the battle of the Deadwater hundreds of year ago."

"I was not frightened, just interested." Simon said, "Anyways, to the important matter. What have you summoned me here for?"

"A letter came this morning." Feldren began, "From the Elder Council."

"What news does it bear?" Simon asked. Ever since the Emperor had been assassinated, all of Cyrodiil had been in an uproar. _All except Althalos, his own brother. _The Deadwater had received many letters asking for Lord Althalos' intentions, yet nothing but silence came from him. _What could the Elder Council want?_

"I don't know, it was meant for Lord Althalos himself. And he must receive it."

"You want me to give it to him?" Simon asked.

"Yes, and see his reaction. Cyrodiil has been eagerly waiting to see his next move, and I fear about what this letter may bring. For some odd reason I had a bad feeling as soon as it was given to me."

"Then let me unburden you," Simon said, reaching to take the letter from Feldren's hands. "Lord Althalos will receive it at once; is he still in the Throne room?"

"Last I heard he was," Feldren said, "That would be _my _first guess."

Simon said his goodbyes, bidding Feldren farewell before he went his way, leaving the Wizard's room and walking back to the halls. He closed the door shut behind him, the letter firmly in his grasp. The seal was still unbroken, and he tried his best not to crumple it even the slightest. _Only the Gods know what this letter says, let us hope it is not more bad news. _

The Throne room was not far from here, from that spot it should only have to take around five minutes to arrive at his new destination. If we walked quickly though, he could go get there in maybe one. He passed a few lowly servants, giving them a friendly nod as they went on their business. He may have been the Lord's greatest counselor, but he did not think of himself higher than anyone else.

His path had led him to a sharp corner, in which the next hallway should lead him towards the Throne room. He thought he could hear voices coming from the distance. There were only a few, but they were loud and sounded angered, Simon did not hear Lord Althalos, but the sound of a stranger. And as he got closer and closer he could infer that the one who was shouting was perhaps a lowly servant, disgruntled soldier, or perhaps a messenger.

One more turn and he was already staring at the open space of the Throne room. The court members gave him stares, while the man who was shouting seemed very upset. Simon gave him a look, and the man who was obviously a Lord, due to his fine clothing. He hurried to the exit, leaving the Deadwater. But Simon walked forward, his destination being Lord Althalos.

"If I may ask my lord, what was going on here?" Simon asked.

Lord Althalos was a strong, large man, yet not too large as well. His upper body looked just like any brute Nord warrior would. But he lacked the blonde hair and blue eyes, he himself possessed brown eyes, and he was blading as well. He was in his late forties, yet he did not look it. His voice was threatening; no sense of joy or happiness ever escaped his lips. He sat upon the Deadwater Throne, made of wood straight from the shores of Cyrodiil. Around him were his counselors, yet none were as valued as Simon.

"One of the nearby Nobles demanding I give him an explanation as for why I have not responded to his messages concerning the death of the Emperor." Lord Althalos said. "He went home without an answer."

"I am sure he will understand whatever reasoning you have or will choose to give him." Simon said.

"Nonsense, I have no more words to share with him. Our faithful Lord of the Broadwater thought he could sway me, to make me steal the Throne; I will not make conversation with him any longer. Let him take his troubles to the Count of Anvil, a title that should have been mine in the first place."

_There is truth in those words. _Simon thought, ever since the Great War, Althalos had hoped that one day his brother would gift him the seat of Anvil as a true trophy for his service. _He held it in the Great War, it is only right to give him the seat. Not that the Count did anything to earn it himself. _

"It doesn't matter; I wish not to linger on that conversation any longer." Althalos began, "Why have you come to me, Simon? Is there something you wish to tell me?"

"There is, my lord." Simon approached his Lord and stretched out his arm; Althalos took the letter into his hand and quickly opened it. "A letter from the Elder Council."

"What do they want from me now…" he said before reading the letter. The whole court stood in silence to learn what it said, and Simon himself had wondered the same thing. _What does it say?_

"So, the Dragonborn is dead." Lord Althalos said, "My brother's last heir is gone. Very interesting news…"

"What does the Elder Council request of you?" Simon asked.

"What do you expect? Titus is dead, my nephew is dead, and now the Dragonborn is dead." Althalos began, "I am next in line."

"Truly? This is grievous news indeed." One of the court members said.

"That I am to become ruler of the Empire?" Althalos had been slightly angered.

"No, that there was no new line of Dragonborn emperors." The man apologized, "I do not mean to insult the capabilities of your rule, my lord."

"Be grateful I am in somewhat of a happy mood." Lord Althalos said, "The Elder Council is convening a meeting in the Imperial City concerning future rule of the Empire. No doubt they wish to crown me."

"Let us hope so, my lord." Simon said, "You are the greatest choice."

"And the only choice." Lord Althalos sounded slightly disgruntled. "Not that that lessens my ability. I am capable and will bring the just reign Titus could not. He was too soft, too kind, he let the Aldmeri Dominion step all over him…I will not make the same mistake."

"I hope not, the whole land bled for naught in those days." Simon had witnessed it first hand at Anvil.

"A war, only to end up signing a treaty at the end. My men starved, bled, and died trapped in Anvil, and for what? So Allalian and the rest of the Dominion can ride along and ban the worship of the Empire's founder, and our God?"

Althalos would always get worked up when thinking of the Great War. "Let us all hope you have the same confidence when the Dominion comes knocking." Simon said, sounding harsher than it was meant to.

"Did you wake up early, Simon? You sound frustrated and angered, but never mind that, I am willing to forget the tone you just used." Althalos replied, "And to reply to your statement, when the Dominion comes, I will crush them."

Simon was going to make a reply, but he heard the doors not far away open, and a gust of wind came forward. Simon turned back, and saw a figure cloaked in black, and looked to be a woman. The court fell silent once again, and everyone's eyes were on the mysterious person. She walked forward, her face unrecognizable, although Simon thought he saw the features of the Redguard.

"You do not have the permission to come any further stranger, state your business." Lord Althalos said, yet the woman did not stop walking, and when two of Althalos' guards stepped forward, a concealed dagger came out in a second, her style of killing almost like a dance. The two men fell down, their throats open and bleeding.

The woman then walked quicker, and the whole court was screaming. Simon didn't know what was happening. _Who is she? What is she doing here? _But his thoughts were interrupted when several guards sped past him, rushing to defend their lord. _She is an assassin; she has come to kill him. _

Her blade came forward with speed, and she was only a few feet away from the Lord of the Deadwater. But Althalos' fist knocked the blade out of her hand, and his arm shot out, grasping the woman's throat. Simon could see the strength that his Lord was using. _I'm surprised she is still alive. _

"Take her!" Althalos told his guards, and two of them went forward, grabbing the woman by the arms. She struggled and tried to be free of them, but failed. "Sword!" Althalos shouted, and one of his soldiers lent him his long greatsword. Althalos did not give thanks, and took the blade, "Hold her down."

Then they pushed her down, and Simon knew what they were going to do. _But they don't have a Headsman's block. _It seemed as if that did not matter however, and Lord Althalos looked down at his attacker, hate filled his eyes. The crowd in the Throne room was gasping, not believing what was happening, but Simon just stood and watched.

"Stretch your neck; it will be quicker that way." Lord Althalos said, and the woman ignored him. He gave a nod to his men, and lifted his greatsword up. Before the blow was dealt, his men kicked the woman hard in the stomach, causing her to shout out and recoil in pain. Her head went up, and at that moment Althalos brought his blade down quicker than Simon had ever seen before. He closed his eyes, and could hear the head rolling on the floor.

"Search her body, maybe there is something of importance on her." Althalos said, and the men began to search her pockets and any other areas she could store something. It took a few moments for one of them to find a small, crumpled note. As soon as he got his hands on it, Althalos said one word.

"Interesting…"

**I liked writing this chapter, and I hope you liked reading it too. Althalos is a character I was pretty excited to introduce, mainly for the stuff ahead. **

** Did you like the chapter? What will happen at the Elder Council meeting? Will there actually be one? Tell me in the…REVIEW section!**


	5. Valor II

Valor

The smoke outside of Windhelm had filled his nose and almost choked him that day, yet now it did not affect him in the slightest. He could hear the cries of soldiers, the sound of fire on wood. He could see the catapults from beyond launch their flaming boulders, and hear the crack of the impact when it hit the ground. The stone bridge vibrated slightly while dozens and dozens of soldiers made their way to the gate, Valor among them.

"This is it, men!" General Tullius, who stood at the head of them had said. "Today we put an end to the so called 'rebellion' Ulfric and his pretenders have put together!"

Several of the men cheered, but the rest were silent. Valor did not blame them that day, as he had been among them. No words came from his mouth, as this was not a day to be proud of. _More bloodshed, _he had thought.

"Ulfric's claim to the Throne of Skyrim will be no more after today!" General Tullius shouted, "Show no mercy to him or any of his Stormcloaks, for they will surely show you none! They will fight with ferocity, strength, and power, do not underestimate them!

"The Emperor will be paying close attention to what happens here today!" General Tullius shouted, with Legate Rikke at his side. "Everyone with me, lets show these rebels what Legionnaires are like!"

General Tullius did not have to say a formal order, as all of the Legionnaires rushed to the doors, and the General shoved them open. Valor followed quickly behind, his sword at the ready. He would do whatever it would take in order to finally end this rebellion, and restore peace to Skyrim once again.

Windhelm on the inside was horribly decimated, the stone buildings that had been hit by the catapult fire were in a horrible state, and those that were not soldiers fled for their lives. Valor and the Legion stormed in, with the Stormcloaks not far ahead. Several soldiers met their death by a group of arrows, but most pressed on. Valor ran, his legs not tiring, and sucked in as much air as he could. He could hear the voices of the Dragon's he had slain in his mind, and understood their knowledge. Finally he let out his breath with three words in a language unknown to most. "YOL TOR SHUL!"

Dragonfire erupted from his mouth; his voice was flame, his words fire. It scorched the stone ground below, and horribly burned the Stormcloaks that tried to oppose him. He could hear their screams echo in his mind, but they did not bother him. He had seen worse during his time in Skyrim.

Finally, the two opposing forces met inside the walls of the city of Ysgramor. Valor, General Tullius, and Legate Rikke were in the head, with the rest of the Legion behind. Valor swung his blade with speed and strength Alduin himself had not even tasted, and he cut down many that opposed him. His strokes did not become slower as time began; instead they increased, as if he had been gifted with a newfound energy.

The sky was filled with more arrows, and yet still Valor had been completely untouched, suffering not one wound. Tullius and Rikke were at the left side, near the path that would lead them to the docks, and if going further to the Grey quarter. Valor and his comrades were in the central courtyard however, and he felt proud of his fellow soldiers as the rebels did not stand a chance. Valor could smell the scent of blood; hear the cries of death, and the sounds of war.

Valor ducked as one soldier tried to end the Dragonborn's life, sending his battle-axe flying with a great force. Valor was too quick though, and rose back up with his sword to deal a blow to the chest. The man cried out in pain, and Valor kicked him down, and bore his sword into his stomach. _May you rest in Sovngarde. _Was his thought that day.

And then _it _happened.

He could see a Stormcloaks rebel not far away, and began to stare at her. It was obviously a woman, yet her face was hid against her helmet. In her hand was a large war-hammer forged of steel, and it looked to be able to take off a man's head. She didn't move, choosing to fix the eyes behind her helmet on him. Valor did not wait however, and rushed forward. _I will deal the first move. _

She tried to back away, but Valor was too quick. His first cut was at her arm, in which after she dropped her hammer on the ground, cowering in fear. "Stop!" she screamed, "it's me-!" were her words, before Valor's sword had pierced her heart. He could hear her last whisper, "Alianor…" confirming her identity. Valor did not believe it at first, and when her body fell he yanked his sword out, wanting to head to the battle. _How does she know that name? _

Then he went to her helmet, and began to pull it off. _It can't be her…_Valor wouldn't believe it. She had left him long ago for unknown reasons, but to join the Stormcloaks…he would not believe it. Yet when the helmet finally slid off, he saw her face.

Her skin was light and soft, and her hair had been blonde like most Nords. Her eyes had been green, and even in death looked beautiful. Her hair usually was long and straight, yet now it was held back, probably so she could put on the helmet. Valor looked down at the woman he once loved, killed by his own hands. He wept that day, yet not now since the image was fading, replaced by tentacles.

Valor wanted the flashback to go away, and his wish was granted. But instead he was met by something more terrifying than Stormcloaks. The eye of Hermaeus Mora was staring down at him, and he could feel him peering into his soul. He tried to flee, but soon realized there was nowhere to go. Mora began to laugh, and the sound of it echoed through the darkness.

Then he returned to that day, and saw himself standing with General Tullius and Legate Rikke. Galmar Stone-Fist held their occupation, but Ulfric's eyes were fixed on the Dragonborn. Valor was filled with nothing but hate. _This is his fault, he started this…Alianor would be alive if he hadn't started his rebellion._

"A shame you chose the wrong side, Dragonborn. Skyrim could have used a hero such as you." Ulfric said, a smirk soon appearing on his face. "No matter, my ascension to the throne of Skyrim was destined by Talos himself, you will not stop me."

Valor had said nothing, his sword did the talking. His arm stretched outwards, sending a strike so deadly it created a gash in Ulfric's stomach. The traitor gasped in pain and shock, and had no time to respond to Valor's next attack. This time it was not as deadly, yet when Valor's sword went for his face, it was not light either. Ulfric fell to the ground, his axe falling with him. Valor had been very angry that day, and with Alianor's face in his memories, he sent more blows to the 'High King.' Over and over again, he heard the sounds of Galmar Stone-Fist let out his last breath before his life was ended, and at that moment Valor made the last move. He knew the others were watching, yet he did not care. His sword fell down right into Ulfric Stormcloak's throat, and at that moment he fell to the ground as well, his legs feeling weak. His eyes stared right into the ones of the dead Ulfric, and he felt no pity.

_Monster…you're a monster. _

* * *

His eyes opened and were greeted with the sight of a wooden room. He thought he could see someone to his right, and his head turned to confirm it. He could recognize the face of Serana anywhere. _Pure beauty is hard to miss. _When she looked at him a smirk appeared on her lips.

"You finally decided to wake up." She said, leaning in closer to plant a kiss on his lips. "I was starting to think you were in a coma."

"You seem quite calm," Valor began. "Last time we were in this situation, you seemed very excited that I woke up."

"I knew you would wake this time, because I remembered what you said." Serana began, "You said you would stay with me forever."

_I did say that, didn't I? _Valor thought, _but neither of us will live forever now. _They had given up their vampirism, and although Valor did not regret it, he could never speak for Serana. _Does she ever feel tempted to feed? To cower in the sun, and travel by night? _Serana had never spoken with him about these things.

"And I will," Valor said, rising in his bed. "Where are we?"

"Falkreath."

"What? How did we get here?"

"I brought us here." Serana said, looking proud of herself.

"You…brought us here as in…carried me?" Valor asked.

"I worked as best as I could on your wounds and then brought you here. We couldn't stay at Lakeview Manor, since whoever tried to kill us would expect us to be there."

"I almost forgot about that…" His mind flashed back to the moment when he had been attacked by what seemed to be Thalmor Justiciars.

"Who were they?" Serana asked.

"Thalmor," Valor replied. "Basically angry elves who want revenge on all of humanity ever since man took over Tamriel."

Serana seemed to understand, although she was lost in thought. Valor didn't know what to say, and he had no idea what to do. _Why do the Thalmor want me dead? I thought we already resolved that instance with the Blades? _He was clueless as to why they had done this, but what he did know was that they would have to be extra careful, and watch their backs.

"Serana, is the Jarl around?"

"He's in the main corridor."

"I need to speak with him, see if he knows what's going on around here."

Valor rose from his bed, feeling full of energy. _I must have been out for days if she carried me all the way to Falkreath. _Valor didn't know what she had gone through bringing him here, but he was sure it was not easy. _I should thank her. _And he did just that.

When he opened the door and she walked through, Valor quickly pulled her close and implanted a kiss on her lips, and said, "Thank you for bringing me here, it must have been hard." But she replied with a simple, "Not really."

"Well, easy or hard, thanks." Valor said, before he had walked a few more steps in the hallway and was faced with the Jarl's main hall. There were few men inside, mostly only housecarls, the steward, and Jarl Siddgeir. He was a young man, barely older than Valor, and had a smug look on his face. The Dragonborn had never liked him, but now he had no choice but to speak with him.

"My Jarl, a joy to be in your presence." Valor said while he approached Siddgeir.

"Ah yes, Dragonborn. I thought I would not see you until you fetched me that Black-Briar mead you promised."

"Unfortunately I have been caught up with other things lately, like the Draugr war, the rabid Dragon Priest, and, I don't know…the Thalmor agents that tried to kill me."

"Oh, well, your fetching companion told me all about that." Siddgeir replied, and Valor could hear Serana whisper something. "I am afraid I can give you no true answer as to why the Thalmor want your head. I can always make assumptions, but they cannot be proven."

"Tell me your assumptions." Valor said, almost sounding like a command.

"I could be possible that the Thalmor find you too dangerous for their plans and most likely see you as a large threat." Siddgeir began, "Or it could be that you are a hindrance in their plans."

_They both could be true. _Both could be possible, and perhaps it was likely that they were. The Thalmor had been speaking of another war for years, and now enough time had passed for their armies to be at great enough strength. _And I am a big complication in their plans._

"Or maybe after the Emperor's death they decided you were not fit to rule, and thus decided killing you was the best way for the Empire to move past its rut. Although that is probably not the case." Jarl Siddgeir said.

"Emperor's death?" Valor asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, I forget, you haven't heard. The Emperor was 'mysteriously' assassinated in the Imperial City not a week ago. Heard all of Cyrodiil is in an uproar, even worse though, before you arrived, High Queen Elisif sent a letter stating your demise."

"What?" Valor asked, he would not believe that now all of the Empire thought him dead. "When did you receive this letter?"

"Two days ago." the Jarl of Falkreath answered, "But here you are, standing before me. Surely Elisif was misinformed, or perhaps she is involved in this scheme to end your life."

Valor would not believe that High Queen Elisif had tried to kill him. He had shown nothing but kindness to her when he occasionally visited the Blue Palace. _I fought for her, secured her claim to the Throne, made her a Queen. It's not possible._

"I would not think too hard on it though, perhaps she had just received word of your demise. Maybe the Thalmor told her, and she felt it was her duty to let the Elder Council know that the last Mede heir was dead." Jarl Siddgeir said, "Whatever the case, Cyrodiil is about to be encompassed in all-out war if an Emperor is not decided. You should think about your next move."

"I have to find out what is going on with High Queen Elisif." Valor began, "Cyrodiil can wait."

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that," Siddgeir seemed disappointed. "Skyrim is at peace for now, but the Empire is not. Cyrodiil will be ravaged by this war, and if that happens it will affect us all."

"My duty is to Skyrim and her people." Valor tried to say more, but Siddgeir interrupted him.

"Is it?" he asked. "As the heir to the Dragon Throne, it _is _your responsibility to claim the Throne once it passes to you. Titus is dead, and if you do not hurry, all of Tamriel is at stake."

"I…Skyrim needs me…" Valor tried to say.

"No, she doesn't. Not yet, at least. Cyrodiil needs you, the Empire needs you. You would risk someone claiming the Throne that is rightfully yours and bringing more chaos and destruction to the realm because you want to find out why High Queen Elisif sent out a letter saying you're dead? You are to bring a new line of Dragonborn Emperors; the world wants _you _to sit the Throne."

"I…" Valor didn't know what to say. If he did go to Cyrodiil, there was a possibility of someone already claiming the Dragon Throne, and then Cyrodiil would be ravaged by civil war. _But if I don't go, there will be no further line of Dragonborn Emperors, like Titus and Akatosh wanted. _

_ "_I will go." Valor said, "The Elder Council needs me, I will head there at once." _And then what will I do? _

**Valor is headed to Cyrodiil now, but will he be too late? **

** I didn't update in a couple days, sorry about that, but with writers block, frustration over Halo 4's now required DLC, and school, it took a while. Hope it was decent, especially the scene where he killed Alianor, I contemplated for a while whether I should put that up or not.**

** Tell me our thoughts in the review section. What do you think will happen next? What do you want to happen next? Tell me in the reviews!**


	6. The True Heir

The True Heir

Their horses trotted into the Imperial City after several weeks of travel. They left early, in order to assure that they would make it on time. The Deadwater was far away from the Imperial City, and they could not risk being late. _I would not miss my coronation. _Althalos thought when he himself was mounted upon his black mare. Around fifty of the Deadwater's guards followed him, along with his trusted counselors: Simon, his loyal servant. Captain Moran, leader of the guard, and counselor in the field of warfare. And finally Terrowin, the Steward of the Deadwater.

"My lord, we should seek proper room and board before we make any other visits." Simon said, his steed being a white horse, whose mane was long and unkempt.

"Today I shall receive my crown; we have no need to procrastinate. Let the Steward make those arrangements, everyone else shall follow me to the Bastion." Althalos commanded, and his men obeyed without question. They had faith in their commander; many had been at Anvil when Althalos had held it against the Dominion for four months, until eventually he overcame them, and they retreated.

Terrowin, Steward of the Deadwater, nodded his head and pulled the reigns of his steed, directing him to the inn. It would not be enough to house all of the men, but after Althalos was crowned, there would be no need. _They will be my personal guard, as a reward for their faithful service. _Althalos wondered what Titus was thinking of him now, _Are you laughing at me? Thinking I am stupid for wanting such a position? I didn't kill your children, or your heirs, the gods obviously willed it, so I would be the Emperor. _

Althalos knew he was the Emperor Tamriel truly needed; he would restore order to the now weakened state of the Empire. He would make sure that every province was ready for the war ahead. _So when those Elves finally return, we will answer with steel and blood. _

He led his men through the streets; the sound of the horses' hooves beating against the stone of the Imperial City was not foreign to Althalos' ears. He had lived here once, before the Great War. And when the crowds of people saw him coming through upon his steed they gathered, their sight filled with the soldiers who served the Lord of the Deadwater. _A title many would not be proud of. _It was hardly a Castle suitable for him, yet he lived on anyways.

He turned left with the road, and his men did the same. He saw city guards, along with many of the royal soldiers lining the streets; apparently he was not the only one who had arrived. The closer he got to the Bastion; he noticed the presence of several banners, along with many groups of soldiers led by their respected Lord. They gave Althalos stared when he rode in, and he replied with a scowl, turning back towards his men and signaling to dismount.

He was the first to hop off his mare, not turning back to see if his men had did the same. He could see the proud banners of many different families. The first he noticed was the wyvern, fire erupting from its mouth, in the background seemed to be the color of flame. Their leader was in the Bastion square, Lord Destrian Withertooth. He was a hard, respectable man, as he had fought in the Great War. _Respectable only to the foolish. _Althalos thought, he saw Destrian for what he truly was. _He wants power, just like everyone else._

Next he saw the bright blue banner of Lord Joshua Orwell, bearing a black Raven with a blue background that Althalos could only assume was the sky. Lord Orwell was a kind man, despite all the power he possessed, but he did not fight in the Great War like the rest of them. _Hardly fit to rule an Empire._

There were other Lords as well, but none as large or powerful as the ones he described. Althalos looked back at his own banner: a black dragon, soaring through the air. Its jaws were open as if it were letting out a loud cry, and in the background was the color of blood. It had been the original family symbol before Titus Mede I took the throne in the time of the Oblivion Crisis. _Dragons prey on Wyverns and Ravens, let's see them try to steal my crown._

"Ah, Althalos, I was expecting you to arrive soon." Lord Joshua Orwell said, "It grieves me to see the Empire in such a state; Titus was a great man, he will be missed."

"A great man, but a bad Emperor." Althalos began, "You didn't fight in the Great War, Lord Orwell; I would not expect you understand the cost that we took, only to give up in the end."

"I may have not fought in the Great War, but I understand the cost of it." Joshua Orwell was not a fit man; he had a round belly and seemed to have trouble walking for a long amount of time. He had a long beard, but his head was balding, and he was much shorter than Althalos.

"Do you? I suppose that will be tested when the Dominion returns." Althalos said.

"Still holding up to that conspiracy?" Lord Orwell laughed, "The Dominion isn't coming back. We are at peace, why would they ruin that?"

"Because they don't want peace, they want all of our heads on spikes." Althalos replied.

"Althalos, I thought you would have grown out of that belief by now. It's been years; the Dominion got what they wanted, they banned the worship of Talos, now they are done." Orwell said.

"Done? We will see how 'done' they are when their ships land on the shores of the Empire's lands, and they sack our villages and cities, enslaving our people and becoming our overlords!"

"Now you're becoming some sort of crazed fanatic, the elves are our friends, if we only treated them as such. I have no doubt they acted the way we did because we painted ourselves as their enemies. They will surely not act so brazen again." Lord Orwell seemed to mock Althalos, and he didn't like it.

"A fanatic? Why you ignorant…" Althalos was going to go overboard, but he stopped himself. "I do not wish to argue any longer, but know this: The Dominion is not done yet."

"I would have to take Althalos' side on this one." Lord Destrian Withertooth chided in. He was a strong, large man, bigger than Althalos by far. He was known for his sheer strength in battle, but his ability to command was a little above average. The perfect warrior, but a mediocre leader. Even so, he was one of the most powerful Lords in Cyrodiil.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Orwell." He said, "The Dominion isn't done yet. They haven't completed their ultimate plan, to enslave us all and become the new overlords of Tamriel. To reclaim what was stolen from them."

"You both are starting to worry me," Joshua said. "But that does not matter; the Elder Council is waiting for us. How about we have them discuss it?"

Althalos wasted no more time conversing with Lord Orwell and Destrian Withertooth. _The man is a fat fool, thinking the Dominion want the Empire and them to be in peace. If anything, they want chaos._

Only Simon and the Captain of his guard followed him, along with the other Lords, major and minor. Inside the Bastion was not as grand or majestic as the White-Gold tower, which now stood in ruin. Instead it was just nice, a nice building with a nice look, surely nothing to display the might of the Empire. But Althalos felt he belonged here. _Vaeril, Titus, and the Dragonborn died for a reason, so that I would succeed to the throne. It is the will of the divines._

The large corridor of the Elder Council was different than it had been in the White-Gold tower. All of the members had already been seated in rows of chairs that had been set up into many sections, circling around a center in which usually the Emperor would be seated. It was most definitely the largest room in the Bastion, and there were at least a hundred different members. _A hundred schemers, liars, and traitors that would stab you in the back if it benefited themselves. _

Althalos' men took the nearest seats; he did not need someone to direct him. He turned to his left from the entrance, Simon and the rest right at his back. He took his seat, the other Lords scrambling to find appropriate seats for themselves. Lord Destrian Withertooth took his seat not too far away; ten or so of his men went with him. Lord Orwell and his five men sat on the far other side of the room, closest to the Elder Council. There were other Lords as well, but Althalos did not care enough to pay them mind. _More fools who think to rob my crown. When the time comes I will spare them no mercy if they try to take my throne._

The High Chancellor of the Elder Council stepped forward onto the pavilion that usually the Emperor of Tamriel would take place. He was an Imperial, shorter than most, yet he had the usual look of a politician. A smirk on his face, mixed with a smug look, he spoke out to his fellow members and his visitors.

"My Lords, and members of the Elder Council, it is good that you all have gathered to ensure the stability of the Empire. Surely without your cooperation, Cyrodiil would be in fragments."

Nobody replied.

"Surely all of you have heard of the Emperor's demise by the hands of an assassin. Although we still grieve for his life, it is time the Empire moves on, and decides a new Emperor."

_And here it comes; let us see who lays their first claim. _Althalos would wait, to see which of these abominations would try to take the Throne from him.

"Should any of you wish to lay claim to the Dragon Throne, speak now, or else hold your thoughts forever…now, who will speak first."

The room was silent for a while, Althalos would not speak first. If he did, his points and promises would be forgotten by the time all of the claims were laid. _Why do they want us to lay claims? I am the heir; the throne is mine by right._

"I will lay claim to the Dragon Throne." Destrian Withertooth rose from his seat.

_How dare he? We fought together in the Great War, how could he try to take my throne? _Althalos was outraged.

"I believe I can rule the realm well, and bring true peace to the Empire." Lord Withertooth said. And the whole room was silent.

"How would you bring about peace to the realm, Lord Withertooth?" the Chancellor asked. "What would be your plan, what do you promise to the Elder Council?"

"I promise only to rule Tamriel as any man with common sense would; a just, prosperous reign that would benefit Tamriel. I would protect any and all who reside inside it, and they could rest safe knowing that the royal army is working as best as they can to protect them. I would give the people a sense of protection, safety, and assurance that they would not wake to find their city burning and their friends being killed in front of their eyes. I would bring peace."

Althalos was going to take the same approach when his turn came, but he himself was too filled with anger to concentrate on what Lord Withertooth just said. _The throne is mine; I am the next in line, why are they weighing claims? _

"Lord Withertooth has just laid him claim, should anyone else come to challenge him?" the High Chancellor of the Elder Council said. Nobody answered, as it seemed there were no further claims to be made. Althalos rose then, as everyone expected he would.

"I lay claim to the throne." Althalos called out.

"And how would you, Lord Althalos Mede, rule the Empire should you be crowned?"

Althalos thought deeply before answering. _I will not give them what they want to hear, I shall tell them the truth. _If he could sway the Elder Council, then perhaps they would choose him over Lord Destrian. _Why would they pick him? I am the heir._

"I would bring you what Titus Mede II should have done. As the _true _heir to the Dragon Throne, I will bring you what Titus could not: true peace." Althalos began. "They called me a fanatic when I said that the Dominion was a threat many years ago, and then after the Great War happened, and I was proven right, they still deny my claim that they will return. But they will, and when the Elven ships are landing on our shores, do you want Lord Withertooth defending the Empire? Or do you want a commander? I held Anvil while outnumbered twenty to one, I did not give in, and neither did my men.

"Crown me as you should, and you would be doing the people of Cyrodiil, and the people of the Empire a great service. As the heir to Titus Mede II, I have laid my true and just claim, should you deny it, you are denying reason."

Murmurs came from the whole room, and Lord Destrian Withertooth gave Althalos a scowl. _Did he think to steal my claim? The Wyvern can never hope to defeat a dragon. _Lord Althalos gave a look to his men, and then to the members of the Elder Council, who all debated amongst themselves. _What are they saying? Who have they decided?_

"Members of the great Elder Council, have you made your decision as to who would lead the great Empire, and bring us peace?"

"Yes, my lord." One of the members called out, "It has come to the council's attention, that the majority of us would feel safer knowing that Lord Althalos would be leading the Empire. Our decision is that Althalos Mede should succeed his brother, Titus, in leading the Empire."

_And there it is. _Althalos knew it was coming, it had to. He was the heir, they could not deny him, all of this debating had been a waste of time, and he should have always been the clear choice. _They should have just crowned me when I arrived, to avoid all of this. _Althalos knew his time had come, _there will be rebellions, and war, to try to take my seat, but I will be ready. _

**I thought I should clear things up a bit:**

** SO just in case you guys haven't realized, Cyrodiil in my story is much different in Skyrim, as the land in dominated by Lords, Nobles, and other things like that. I decided to do that to show that they are two very different places, that operate differently. And how life and authority in Skyrim is much different than in Cyrodiil, as some of our characters will learn. **

** Hope it was decent, and I hope you are glad (or angry, sad, don't care) that Althalos got the throne, and I can tell you that this is leading to something…that is all.**

** REVIEW!**


	7. Erikur

Erikur

"Someone has been sending letters in your name, my Queen." Falk Firebeard told High Queen Elisif, "We have not identified the source, but rest easy my lady, we will find whoever has done this."

"You are not working hard enough!" High Queen Elisif seemed very angered, "Whoever sent those letters has the whole Empire in an uproar!" then her tone softened. "Not only that, but I have received no words as of yet of Valor's whereabouts."

"You need not worry, my lady; he can defend himself." The Steward of Solitude always seemed to calm Elisif's nerves during a crisis.

"I hope so, it would be a shame if he is truly dead." The High Queen sat back and sighed sadly upon her throne. Erikur simply sat in his chair not far away, not caring. He had no doubt that Elisif was troubled by the news of the Dragonborn, as her feelings toward him were one of the worst kept secrets in the Blue palace. The Thane of Solitude flipped a page of the book in his grasp; it was a collection of all of the letters Elenwen had sent him since he had partnered with the Thalmor. _Fifty, a whole fifty letters, and still growing._

"Thane John, you may approach." Elisif had to get on with her other duties; the realm still needed her Queen. _As much of a Queen as she really is. _Erikur had no faith in his Queen, that much was known even to Elisif herself, since Erikur was bad at hiding it.

Thane John approached the royal court, his clothes spoke of a wealthy man. His short brown hair barely covered his head, along with his almost pale white skin. He was not like most Nords, as he did not have a love for battle and honor, instead he preferred the life of a royal court, and politics. Erikur had spoken with him many times, yet he still did not feel comfortable around him.

"My lady, the festival is poised to be the largest in living memory, due to this; Captain Aldis has asked that we post more guards inside the city." The Thane began, "Perhaps we should send for the soldiers from Dragon Bridge?"

Elisif seemed disgruntled; obviously she did not want to be there. "Tell Captain Aldis that it is his decision whether he thinks it is wise to discard the guards from Dragon Bridge."

"I will tell him those exact words, my lady." Thane John bowed, "I do not wish to disturb you any longer, and I will head to the Captain at once."

Elisif did not reply, and Erikur watched as Thane John walked off. _The Queen is aggravating him. _He could tell none of Elisif's Thane's or any of the other authorities at court aside from Falk Firebeard had any respect for their Queen. _If it wasn't for General Tullius and the Dragonborn, Ulfric would be High King, and perhaps Skyrim would be better off. _Ulfric could have lead Skyrim in the Draugr war, or at least could have inspired his men to fight, yet Elisif did none of these things.

"I just want this day to be over with," Elisif said to Falk Firebeard. "And looks like I won't get much sleep, since the festival will be all week."

Erikur had no plans to attend the festival at first, yet now he considered it. What harm could come in celebrating the victory over the Draugr months ago? Even in his state, Erikur found that something worth celebrating. _Plus, there may be some Bosmer women there. _Nothing could satisfy him like Bosmer women did.

The court singer began to play on his harp while Erikur began to rise, ready to leave. The man had a nice voice, but Erikur was in no mood to stay. Elenwen had warned him of her arrival today, and he could not be late. But even though he was in a rush, he could hear the words of "The war of the Accursed." From behind him. _"And the dragons came down; jaws outstretched and wreaked havoc below." _

Erikur was already heading down the stairs, _"Bringing the death of many heroes, and the lives of ones we know." _Erikur had never favored the song, but he could not help but pay attention to the words as they were sung. _"A tale of fire, a tale of death, that's all the Draugr are good for. And would have been lost, all death, if not for the Dragonborn."_

Erikur's hand went for the handle of the door, and he did not stop to hear the rest of the song. _Who knows how it ends, I've never listened to it. _Perhaps the song had a happy ending like most, but Erikur preferred the tragedies, the ones that ended in betrayal and death. Songs of Valor and courage did not interest him, they were unrealistic.

The door was finally opened to him, and Erikur could see the preparations finally coming to a close for the festival. There were streets blocked off, being replaced with decorations and stalls, soon to form a market that would be full of the most expensive wines, the most diverse foods, and the best sweet rolls. Colorful décor was hanging from every building, and he could see the town guard speaking with Aldis, probably getting ready for the night that was to come.

Erikur went to his home, the book of Elenwen's letters still in his hand. He expected the elf to be there already, as she had always been when they had met. Erikur went up the small amount of steps, opening his door shortly after. He had left it unlocked so Elenwen would find an easy way inside, even though it probably wouldn't stop her if it was locked.

The inside of his home looked the same as it always did, full of books sprawled out over the tables, and many chairs. He was not surprised to see the High Elf women sitting not far away from the entrance. She gave him a look as if she had been expecting him. Erikur was not surprised, _what news does she have for me?_

"Sit," she commanded, yet she had no authority over him yet. _Skyrim is not hers, and Allalian has not yet claimed Tamriel. _As long as the Empire still stood, Erikur was no lower than she was.

Erikur took his seat. "I heard the Dragonborn was killed, you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"He died; there should be no more about it." Elenwen said, "A group of bandits killed him on the road."

"I'm sure, and I am also assuming that Titus Mede II just fell on his own sword? And that Althalos Mede just happened to lop off the head of a random peddler?"

"He died; there is no more to it." Elenwen told him, "Althalos managed to evade my assassin, but it does not matter, either way, war will come. The common folk will not stand to have him on the throne much too longer, they will rebel, claiming their true Emperor was the Dragonborn."

"I was surprised when I heard he was given the throne, it seems the Elder Council are not as elite as they think. They did not even bother to look into the Dragonborn's death." Erikur pointed out.

"They are a fractured order. Once a proud organization, now fallen so low as to succumb to scheming and betrayal. Did you know that it was one of the Council's own that supplied the assassin that killed Titus with a poison to ensure his death?"

"Such loyalty should be rewarded." Erikur smirked.

"No worse than your own loyalty, Erikur. You have betrayed your Queen and your Empire, even if it was the right choice."

Erikur ignored that last comment. "Elisif has received word of the letters you sent out in her name, surely she will cleanse her reputation soon enough after she finds out the person responsible."

"That is why I came here to talk to you," Elenwen said. "I have no further need of Elisif, her being on the throne will become a problem sooner or later, and undo years of planning. I mean to deal with it."

"How?" Erikur asked.

"You will see, make sure you attend the festival tonight, stay in the market, and when Elisif comes to see the wares, keep an eye on the shadows." Were Elenwen's last words before she abruptly rose from her chair, wasting no time to say farewell. Erikur was going to follow her, to ask what she meant, but he never did. _Keep an eye on the shadows, what does that mean? _

He stayed the rest of the day, rummaging through the pile of books, scrolls, business ledgers, and notes all over his home. He waited for the sound of festive celebration, joyous laughter, and music. He waited for a long time, his mind looking forward to when he heard the first blast of song. Erikur had little interest in the array of shops and contacts he kept contact with. Still, he briefly glanced at all of his clients. _Enthir _was usually at the top of most of his orders. The elf always had need for something that was not usually permitted.

Then he heard the sounds of dozens of singers, all in unison reciting the words to some of the greatest songs known to Skyrim. "Ragnar the Red," "Age of aggression," and "The Dragonborn comes," were among them. He thought he heard "The war of the Accursed" as well, but he paid that no mind. He was already heading to the door when he could hear the cheers of the guests that were just arriving.

When Erikur opened the door, he was greeted with the joy and happiness of the festival that had been planned for seven months. He could see lone market stalls selling what seemed to be Cyrodiilic Brandy. Not only that, but the Bards were going to work, those that did not sing were playing the flute, drums, or the harp. It was a joyous event, yet Erikur could not help but wonder what was to happen. _Look at the market; she said something would happen there._

High Queen Elisif had come out from her Palace along with her advisors and counselors soon after. Clad in a dark red dress that showed a little cleavage, and much of her back, she strutted through the crowds in a royal manner. A few guards kept an eye on her, making sure that if anyone tried to make a move, they would be ready.

Thane Bryling approached Erikur soon after. "Looks like you're having fun."

"This is a great day to celebrate, just not for me."

"I thought when you said you would attend; you would at least try to enjoy it." Bryling started, "It seems I was wrong."

"I am enjoying it; I'm just not showing it."

"Find any Bosmer women you like?" Bryling smirked.

"Not one." Erikur replied, "Find a Nordic warrior with large muscles and a war axe to rub in my face."

"No." Bryling said, "Although I am looking, so far this place is full of peasants who need a way to get cheap mead, and the Bards."

"We're not peasants."

"Are you sure?" Bryling asked, "The way we live, the peasants are better off."

She didn't say anything after that, only made her way to the festival. Erikur stood still, and watched as the High Queen of Skyrim made her way to the market stalls, a small gold coin in her hands. Erikur began to look around, checking all of the dark corners and such that he could find. No hidden Thalmor soldier or such was visible.

The screams from the crowd were loud enough to be heard in Cyrodiil.

He thought he could hear the words of "The Age of aggression," while the deed was done, but he was not entirely sure. His eyes were fixed on the scene before him, as High Queen Elisif the fair dropped to the ground, an arrow in her chest. Erikur did not see where it came from, nor did he know who sent it, all he did know was that the High Queen was lying on the ground, dying. The guards rushed towards her, and Sybille Stentor came as well. But Erikur could tell that she was dead, as she was still, and the arrow looked to be in her heart.

_Elisif is dead, now nobody can know that she didn't send the letters. _Erikur thought, and finally he thought he understood Elenwen's plan.

**Well, I finally made a chapter. Hope it wasn't disappointing, as I have thought about making Erikur a POV character for a while, disregarding the Epilogue for Dragonfire.**

** Like or no? Were you surprised with Elisif's death? I am starting to wonder whether any of the canon characters will survive once i finally conclude this story.**

** REVIEW!**


	8. Valor III

Valor

His horse was quick, and so was Serana's.

They had come upon Dragon Bridge after a long and hard journey. And even though it was not a rough as some of the others she had been on, Serana still found plenty of things to complain about. Of course, the lack of sleep was one, and the strain on the energy from riding too much. _She will learn to accept it, things are going on that are more important than sleep._

Valor had decided to speak with High Queen Elisif before he rode off to Cyrodiil. The Empire would not crumble if he was absent for a week. _Or at least I hope not. _As long as nobody claimed the Dragon Throne, Valor would have no problems. _If someone did however, then we will have a problem._

"You can go and speak with Elisif when you get there; I'm going to an inn." Serana said, her blue eyes locked on his seriously from atop her steed.

"Go on." Valor told her.

"I'm forgetting, you don't sleep anyways." Serana looked away, "This journey wasn't much of a difference for you."

Valor gave her a stare, and it was not a kind one. _I would sooner stay awake then have the Daedra in my head. _She could not understand, and still didn't. He did not often speak with her about his dreams; he didn't talk about them with anybody, actually. _If she went through this, she wouldn't want to sleep either._

"You're quite mean when you haven't slept." Valor said, almost a confirmation to himself.

"Sorry to shock you, but most people are like that." Serana once again grasped her reigns and went forward from the small town of Dragon Bridge.

Valor did not stop for any reason, but Serana jumped off her horse, seeming almost dizzy as she tried her best to head to the door. Valor had grown use to staying awake in order to prevent sleeping, but Serana had not. A few moments later she was already pulling the door open, and heading inside. Valor could hear the silent noise of a bard playing the flute as well, yet he himself rode to Solitude. _Hope she has some coin. _

He was not sad to be leaving Serana at Dragon Bridge; the woman had been hard to be around after the third day of straight riding. Valor didn't want to stop, as he had to reach Elisif and find out what was going on. He had to know why she had sent the letters stating his demise, and why Thalmor soldiers had come to kill him. _I chose this over the Empire, yet was it the right decision? _

It was likely, according to all of Valor's thoughts that the whole realm would bleed for his actions. If another Emperor was chosen, then there would be rebellion. The people wanted a Dragonborn emperor, and even though he didn't at first…he _wanted _to rule. For some reason, he felt he would be successful at it, not only that, but in the accounts of his life, he would not just be labeled as the Dragonborn, but perhaps something more.

_I didn't start that way…the life of politics has tainted me. _He had spent a long time getting to know the Emperor, his loyal subjects, and most of the Elder Council. Most he knew by name, and where they were from and at least one important thing about them. He would be lying though if he had not been changed after hearing some of the convoluted plots those people had in mind. _They haven't changed me enough though; I am still the same person._

The horse's hooves beat on the stone road, and as he passed by the establishments and such when he reached the outskirts of Solitude, he noticed that there were fewer people than normal. The occasional guard patrolled the road however, and Valor made sure to approach him.

"Sir," Valor called out, towering over him from atop his horse. "Where has everyone gone?"

"Haven't you heard?" the guard asked, and when Valor replied with a confused face, he had his answer. "They are at High Queen Elisif's funeral, you hurry you could get to your destination before it starts. Heard all of the roads will be blocked soon enough."

"Elisif's funeral?" _What happened while I was gone? _A funeral meant…death. How could High Queen Elisif be dead? She was protected by countless guards and soldiers, trained by Captain Aldis himself. "How did this happen, how did she die?"

"In the festival, honoring the Dragonborn and the victory over the Draugr. Fair Elisif was shot down by an assassin while searching the markets. Now who will be the Jarl of Solitude? Even more important, who will be High King?"

_I…I don't know. _Many of the Jarl's had been killed off during the Draugr war, along with their respective holds destroyed or burned. Who was left to claim it? There was always Jarl Balgruuf in Markarth, but he had a bad temper, and many no longer respected him. There was Jarl Brina in Winterhold, but she was just a soldier, not fit to rule a whole province. _Whoever it is, Skyrim won't be the same._

"Thank you for your help, sir." Valor said.

"Stay safe." The guard said before walking off, "Been talk of queer folk in Solitude lately, say they are looking for the Dragonborn. I would be careful if I were you, they have been interrogating the whole city."

"I will be mindful." Valor replied, before taking off. _Queer folk? Who? _It could always be the Thalmor, making sure they finished him off, or maybe an assassin from the Dark Brotherhood. _Something tells me…it's not that. _He had a feeling that someone needed him.

He did not linger on it much longer, as soon his mind was back on the road. He turned to look back at where he spoke to the guard, but that man was a distant sight, and appeared to get smaller and smaller. He turned forward once again, the large stone structures of Solitude coming closer.

The capital of Skyrim was always a grand sight, as it had been built specifically to show off the beauty and might of the Empire, but also to survive siege if necessary. Solitude had not been attacked in Valor's lifetime, yet he wondered what would happen if it had been. _Ulfric not have gotten past the gates if his Stormcloaks came marching here. _

The large gate of Solitude was upon him, guarded by two Imperial soldiers who looked as if their attention was on something else. They turned to him when he arrived, and Valor hopped off his horse.

"You come to Solitude at a strange time, traveler." One of them said, "Odd folk about, a dead Queen, and a new Jarl will soon be decided. What brings you here?"

"I seek work." Valor lied. "Heard there was a man in need of some muscle."

"What brought you here then? Don't have any muscle on you." The other said.

"My blade speaks well enough for me." Valor said, his hand hovering over to the hilt of his sheathed sword.

"Ah, a true sellsword." He said, "Plenty of gold for you in this city, if you're willing to work for it. Check into the Winking Skeever if you need a bounty or contract to earn you a small handful of coin."

The two guards stepped aside, and allowed Valor to pass. He did so gratefully, summoning what little strength he had to push the Solitude gates open. They were not heavy, and soon enough the inside of Solitude was visible. The doors closed behind him, and he could see that there was nobody in sight.

He looked to the Winking Skeever, then to the array of shops and such that were near the entrance to the capital city of Skyrim. There was nobody, and the stone buildings stood empty. There were at least three guards around, but they were silent and just stared at Valor, who kept on walking in search of finding out what was going on.

The sun shone down on him, and he began to lightly sweat as he started to jog. Still, he could see nobody, and yet he thought he could hear voices from a distance. It was an old man's voice, and was loud enough to reach Valor's ears. He made his way even quicker, turning on a slight corner to find the beginning of a crowd on the sides of a road.

"May she rest with her forefathers and those that came before her in the halls of Sovngarde forever." the old man said, who was standing in front of Elisif's funeral pyre, which was at the path that would lead to the Blue palace. "Let her and High King Torryg be reunited in Shor's halls, and rejoice in that realm forever!"

"Bring the fires!" the priest said, and two guards approached with torches. Everyone began to gasp, as the priest waved them aside, and stepped to the funeral pyre of High Queen Elisif. "Let Elisif join with the other Kings of Skyrim in the fires of mighty Alduin." Then, he raised his hands, and fire sprang from them. It was not the flames that might come from a mage, but it seemed divine. _This is no ordinary magic._

Orange and red flame, identical to the color of dragonfire leapt from his hands, and doused the body of Elisif and the funeral pyre in fire. The pile of flammable wood erupted into the substance at one, and everybody watched their High Queen's body burn. Valor was reminded of Vaeril, and when he had seen his body burn as well.

"Let Shor guide her in the other realm, let Herma-Mora give her wisdom in the afterlife, and let the gods watch over her for the rest of eternity." _He prays to the old Nordic gods. _Valor thought, and the fires were gone, along with Elisif's body. All that was left was the charred wood of the funeral pyre. The people were amazed, and some were weeping in the memory of their Queen. Most did not though, and soon enough they began to disperse. Valor was about to head forward, to talk with someone, but he felt a hand grasp the back of his shirt.

"I've finally found you," it was the voice of a woman, and sounded very familiar. "We must not be seen, or else they will know we are here." Valor tried to wrench free of her grasp, but she held on to him too tight. When it had gotten out of control, he heard the woman sigh, and he felt a great pain as she struck his head.

* * *

He found himself waking up with a serious headache; he could tell he was in the Winking Skeever, as he could hear the familiar voice of the bard. His vision was blurred originally, but it began to clear the longer he looked. He could see several figures cloaked in black in the same room. _Four, there are four. _His sword was gone, they probably took it. _More Thalmor?_

"It's been a long time, Dragonborn." The woman who had hit him said, "We have been searching for you for a very long time."

_That voice…where have I heard that voice? _It sounded so familiar, yet he could not pinpoint who it was. The other three cloaked figures got closer, and the woman threw his sword on the dresser to Valor's right. He went to reach for it, but she grabbed his arm firmly, and held it there.

"I wouldn't." she said, "We are not here to hurt you."

"Who are you?"

The woman gave a look to the others, and they all nodded. Slowly, her hands went to remove the black cloak from her head. And Valor was both glad and not glad to see the Breton before him. He could see the others as well, and could instantly recognize the old man.

"Delphine." Valor confirmed, "What do you want?"

"A warmer greeting would have been better, but I did not come to exchange meaningless courtesies with you."

"Perhaps if you would have stuck with your oath, the very thing you swore to uphold you, then I would be more ecstatic to see you." Valor said.

"I did not come here to speak about Paarthurnax, there are bigger things going on that don't concern him at the moment." Delphine said, the rest of the Blades being silent.

"What bigger things?" Valor asked, "The only big thing going on right now is that the Thalmor tried to kill me."

"The Thalmor want you dead because they don't want another Dragonborn emperor. If you ever rose to power, it would be considerably more difficult to defeat the Empire." Delphine said it as if she was speaking the obvious. "You are wasting your time in Solitude, you should be in Cyrodiil, a new Emperor has already been chosen."

"What?" Valor asked, almost in disbelief. _Who took it? _He thought, not sure what to say.

"Lord Althalos Mede, Titus' brother, now sits the Dragon Throne. But the people are unhappy; many do not accept him as their true ruler." Delphine said, "You are the only Emperor they will ever accept, Dragonborn."

_Dragonborn…_that what everyone called him, the title of Dragonborn was one of the things that Valor hated being called. _I have a name…use it. _He wanted to say, but he controlled himself.

"You want me to start a rebellion." Valor said, almost a confirmation to himself.

"Yes, and we as the Blades, who are pledged to serve the Dragonborn, will do just that." Delphine said, "Should you choose to go to Cyrodiil, and pursue the Dragoon Throne, as is your right, then we would serve as your personal guard, as we did for the Septims, long ago."

_My personal guard… _"It is your choice, Dragonborn." Esbern said from behind, and Valor had to think on his decision.

"The people love you; they want a new line of Dragonborn emperors. It would be unwise not to give them one." Delphine told him. "What is your choice, Dragonborn?"

_No matter the choice, there will be war. _If the small folk would not stand for Althalos to be on the throne, then there would surely be rebellion. No doubt one of the Lords would lead the cause, and the realm would be encompassed in blood. _If I go to Cyrodiil, the realm will bleed. If I don't, the realm will bleed._

It was not a hard decision.

**I made another chapter! This one was pretty fun to write, and I guess you guys can tell that at least for this part of the story, it revolves mostly around Cyrodiil, the heartland of the Empire.**

** I don't know how many reading this have read Dragonfire, as I am sure some haven't, but if you have, how does this story measure up? DO you think it will be better than Dragonfire? Or was Dragonfire to awesome to be beaten? Or do you think that hey both are garbage and are stealing attention from better stories that deserve it?**

** REVIEW!**


	9. Serana

Serana

She had a good sleep…for the most part.

The beds were soft and warm, the music nice and quiet, and the food tasty. Serana tried her best not to converse with anybody there, and so far she had been the secluded outlander that would sit in the corner, a cloak on, and drink mead while looking suspicious. She couldn't let the Thalmor find her; Valor wasn't there, so if she got in a fight she was on her own. _I hope he returns soon, it's getting pretty lonely. _

Serana went no farther than one bottle of mead, she did not particularly like the taste, but everyone else was drinking it, so she would feel awkward if she did not. Serana never drunk with Valor, and she never drank anything but blood with her father. _I wonder what father is doing in Coldharbour right now. _When Serana's time of death would come, she would go to the realm of Molag Bal as well. Serana wished she could do something about it, to change that, but her soul was already pledged to Molag Bal, he claimed it the day he brutally raped her on his summoning day, and when she became a Daughter of Coldharbour.

She remembered that day as if it were yesterday. The odd chanting, the nervous looks she would give her mother, and the odd stares she got from her father. She was the first offered, and when Molag Bal had been successfully summoned, Serana had never felt more pain than she did that day. _I never trusted men in general for a very long time…_Molag Bal was nothing like the men of Skyrim, but still she had to fix the blame on someone, and ever since the summoning day she had grown uncomfortable with…certain actions between a man and a woman.

"Heard they had a priest of the old Nordic gods preside over Elisif's funeral." The innkeeper told the man who drank at the bar, who was cloaked and hidden. Serana listened, having nothing else to do.

"A shame, now those Nords are going to try to get us to worship that oversized squid." The man replied.

"An even larger shame that the High Queen's funeral was tainted by such filth. That's no way to bid fair Elisif goodbye forever." the innkeeper seemed slightly angered.

"Aye, heard there's some of that going on in Markarth as well. Heard of some priest who preaches that a great war is coming. Folk say he keeps a girl in his home who predicts the future. The Gods only know what sorcery is going on over there."

"Balgruuf was meant to rule over Nords, that city of refugees Is too much for him to handle. Too different, too foreign." The innkeeper said.

"Aye, I heard that the spirits of those killed in Markarth during the Draugr war still haunt the city to this day. Been reports of murders, missing citizens, and worse. The Jarl himself makes sure to keep a constant guard outside of his doors at all times."

"Guards can't kill a ghost." The innkeeper pointed out. "Those Draugr ruined Skyrim. I can't even get a cheap shipment of meats now that Whiterun is destroyed. Now I've got to raise my prices, but nobody wants to pay fifty Septims for a leg of mutton."

"Where do the meats come from now?" the hooded man asked.

"Get some from Falkreath, and a little from Riften, but that's it. Dawnstar is gone, so I can't get fish for cheap anymore either, and Winterhold is all but ruined except for the College. Got no way to get anything anymore." The innkeeper began to wipe away at his wooden bar with a rag, and Serana put the empty bottle of mead on the table.

She walked up to the bar, and took a seat on the stool. She took out the last piece of gold she had, "A sweet roll." She asked setting the Septim on the table. The innkeeper nodded, and the hooded man turned to her direction. He was an ugly man, with several scars on his forehead. Serana turned away, not threatened.

"You're a pretty one; I've never had a woman like you before." He said, almost as if he hungered for her.

"And you won't…ever." Serana simply said, as the innkeeper returned with a small sweet roll, and left soon after. She had not tasted one in a long time, being a vampire for thousands of years didn't make you hunger for sweet rolls.

"Got an attitude, no matter, you won't when I'm done with you."

Serana gave him a hard, long stare, as her hand hovered to the hilt of her dagger. The man looked a criminal, as he had the face for it. His smile was awfully unattractive, with crooked teeth and several missing ones as well. _He better stop talking._

"You answer me when I'm talking to you!" he didn't shout, but he wasn't asking politely either. Serana looked away, and took the sweet roll in her hand and had one small bite.

"Take another bite, and I'll rip your clothes off right now, woman." He growled, "You'll never feel a larger pain. Maybe I'll give you a present too, a little boy to remind you of this day."

Serana had enough, and she rose from her stool and was headed outside. She had only taken a few steps when she felt a hand grab the back of her shirt. It was not hard to figure out who it was, and Serana spun around to see the man again. "Got no respect, you're coming with me to _my_ room." He pulled on her shirt, but Serana's fist went flying, and hit the man strait in the face. _He picked the wrong fight. _She could hear the door open behind her, but did not bother to check who it was.

The man was on the ground, and he drew a small dagger from his sheath. "I'm wanted in three different provinces, girl. You'll regret this!" Serana wondered where the innkeeper was, where he had gone. Yet her attention was focused on the dagger flying up, and she responded with a quick dodge, and a slash of her own dagger. The man dropped back, his face covered with a slight gash. "Agh!" he shouted.

"I see your having fun." A voice said behind her.

Serana did not have to turn to identify Valor's voice. She turned expecting to see the Dragonborn with a smirk on his face and his hand on the hilt of his blade. Instead she was greeted with the sight of several different figures cloaked in black, her favorite Dragon slayer in front of them.

"Don't turn on your attacker, girl!" the criminal shouted form behind, but one of the cloaked figures moved with a speed unseen by Serana ever. Her arms flashed out of her cloak, and a dagger sped past Serana, and she could feel the slight wind that went with it. Serana did not have to look to know the man had been defeated.

"I thought you said she was powerful." The cloaked woman said to Valor. "She looks just like a mess to me."

"Excuse me?" Serana asked.

"Delphine, calm yourself. I am sure that Valor has chosen this woman to be his partner for a reason, he would not choose unwisely." An old man said.

"I liked Alianor better." The woman replied.

"You've only seen her for not even a minute, I'm sure she will warm up to you."

"It doesn't matter, it's not my choice, and Valor can lie with whoever he wishes." The woman was obviously annoyed. "We have a realm to save. Valor, tell…Serana what's going on, we need to get out of here."

The four cloaked figured walked out of the inn, leaving Valor and Serana to themselves. The innkeeper still had not returned, and Serana was just staring at him. _Who is Alianor?_

"I see you found some new friends." Serana said, walking closer to him.

"Not really new, I've known them for a long time." Valor replied.

"That woman seems to like me." Serana said.

"She just needs to warm up to you; she always disapproved of my…let's not go there."

She had to get the question of her mind. "Who is Alianor?"

Valor hesitated to answer, and she could see the conflict in his eyes. _Who is she? _Serana wanted to know, obviously something happened to her, yet she had to know what.

"She was a friend." Was his answer

"What happened to her?"

"She died…" Valor did not say much more after that, "We can talk about that later."

He didn't say anything after that for a while, and the two stood in silence. Serana felt particularly uncomfortable, _He doesn't want to talk about it…_she wanted to know who Alianor was, and how she died. _Later…_he said they would talk about it later, she would just have to be patient.

"Who were those people?" she changed the direction of the conversation.

"Old friends, they helped me out a long time ago." Valor answered, "They will be coming with us."

"Coming with us where?" Serana asked.

"To Cyrodiil."

"Well if we are headed to Cyrodiil, then I am assuming you figured out why those elven guys attacked you?"

"No…not exactly, I have a hunch." Valor said, "Unfortunately, we have other problems on our hands. The Elder Council already chose another Emperor."

_What? "_Who?"

"Titus' brother, Althalos Mede."

"Well, once they realize you are alive, he will step down, right?" Serana asked.

"That's not what Delphine thinks." Valor began and Serana assumed that was the cloaked woman. "She says that Althalos is likely to rebuke my claim."

"But you're the heir." Serana pointed out.

"It doesn't matter, the Empire thought I was dead, and now someone has taken my throne." Valor began, "If I could, I would probably let him keep it. But I can't, we need to go to Cyrodiil…now."

Valor grasped her hand, and led her outside, opening the door. Serana looked back at the dead body of the man who had tried to attack her, covered in blood. The innkeeper still had not returned from wherever he had went, and she would not stay to take the blame for this. _Wonder what the guards will think when they walk in and see that._

Outside, Dragon Bridge was just like any other village, there was nothing really special about it aside from the stone structure that allowed passage over the river. The four cloaked figures turned to the two, who approached them quickly.

"We should leave as soon as possible, is the girl ready?" the old man asked.

"I can guarantee that I am older than all of you combined." Serana said, a slight frown on her face. "I'm a woman, not a 'girl'."

"Whatever you are, you better get on a horse quick, before I get upset." The woman seemed angered.

"Delphine," Valor said, "Calm down."

"Tell the…woman…to get ready, I will not suffer any more distractions, we should have been near Morthal by now." The woman whose name was apparently Delphine said.

The four cloaked figures walked away soon, headed towards the stables. Serana could see bags of gold in their hands. Valor came towards her however, a slightly annoyed look on his face.

"Promise me you and Delphine will try to get along." Valor said.

"She's the one with the attitude." Serana replied.

"I realize she can be difficult to be around sometimes, but just…try." Valor said, "Or else this is going to be a very long journey."

As much as Serana wanted to justify her actions, she did not. When Valor realized she was not going to argue any further, a small smile crept on his lips. He seemed grateful, and leaned forward to plant a quick kiss on her lips. "Try." He reminded her.

"Whatever…" Serana rolled her eye playfully, and Valor tried to ignore it.

"You know, Eleriand and I stopped here while trying to find you." Serana brought up.

"Did you?" Valor's mood seemed to grow grimmer.

"We were attacked by Dawnguard just outside of the bridge." Serana brought up, and when Valor heard those words he seemed to be slightly angry. Serana saw something, like frustration, but also relief.

"That won't happen again." Valor said, "I already took care of that."

"I remember." Serana replied. "How could I forget?"

They were about to converse some more, but Delphine began to call out Valor's name soon after. "Dragonborn! Hurry up, we have to go!" Valor gave her a nod, and the two quickly walked towards the stables, ready to mount upon the horses they had arrived with.

_Let's see what happens…_Serana would just have to wait and see what trials were ahead of her. Cyrodiil was a strange place to her, so different, so foreign, yet with Valor by her side, she had the feeling she could get past any obstacle in her way.

**Short, and not much happened, but I hope it was decent. I particularly hate Delphine, but I also think she and Esbern a cool characters, and deserve to be included. **

**Do you hate Delphine to? did you side with Paarthurnax? how about your thoughts on the actual chapter? tell me in the...review section!**


	10. Simon II

Simon

"These are my advisors?" Lord Althalos asked Simon.

"I believe so, my lord." Simon said, turning toward the group of men and women that had gathered in the Emperor's chambers.

"We are indeed, my Emperor." The Elder Council member, Amaund Motierre said. "I am Amaund Motierre, Chairman of the Elder Council." Then Amaund pointed to the man standing next to him, who was slightly overweight, and looked younger than thirty. "This is the High Chancellor, Lord Urandil Redson, the true leader of our order. The most pristine of the members of the Elder Council."

"And this one?" Lord Althalos pointed towards the younger woman.

"This is Lady Alysa, Titus' court wizard." The woman was a beauty, Simon would admit that. She was slender, and looked no older than the age of twenty. Her skin was fairly light for an Imperial, but her hair was a dark black. She let out a playful smile. _Something tells me Titus had her on his council for other reasons. _Simon thought.

"Our purpose, if you would allow us, is to serve your every will." High Chancellor Urandil said, "Should you desire council, or anything else you could possibly want, it is our job to supply them to you, no matter our personal thoughts and feelings."

"There are not many of you," Althalos pointed out. "This is a very s_mall _group."

"There is room for two more seats, left for your choosing only." Lady Alysa said, "After those two however, we advise no more. The purpose of your advisors is to include the least amount as possible, to ensure that only the smartest and most loyal would provide you their opinion."

"I can add anyone?" Lord Althalos seemed to have already made his decision, "I would like my noble lord Simon to also sit upon the council, as he did in the Deadwater."

"I am honored, my lord." Simon said.

"He's not a Lord anymore, he's an Emperor." Amaund Motierre pointed out.

"Forgive me for my mistake." Simon said, slightly annoyed that the Elder Council member had corrected him. "It would please me to advise my Emperor, as I did for many years before at the Deadwater."

"And for your second seat?" the High Chancellor asked.

"Send word to my wife, Lady Reya at once; tell her to report to these chambers immediately."

The command was directed to the guards, who stood still and silent at the doors. They nodded to their Emperor, and opened the door quickly, not wanting to disappoint their leader. Simon was not surprised that Lady Reya was to be one of his counselors; Lord Althalos did love his lady wife.

"I believe we should begin our first meeting, there are many things to discuss, if you would allow it, my Emperor." Amaund Motierre said.

"Of course, let us proceed." Althalos replied.

Althalos followed the group of counselors and advisors to the other room in the Emperor's chambers. The hall that they walked in was narrow, with a low ceiling as well, but when they came upon the second room that was not the case. Inside, there was a long round table, with several seats that were placed to allow the Emperor and his most trusted to meet. They took their respected seats, and Simon sat close to his Emperor.

"Let us begin, shall we?" High Chancellor Urandil had a sly smirk on his face that made Simon feel uncomfortable. _I don't trust him. _Something about him just…Simon did not like it.

Urandil reached into the pocket of his long orange robes that most of the Elder Council seemed to wear. He produced a small letter, rolled up and kept tight with the seal of Titus Mede II. Lord Althalos seemed to tense when he saw it for some reason.

"Your brother's will, my Emperor." Urandil said, "Unbroken, I would like to point out." He broke it carefully, unrolling the small piece of parchments. Simon could see the lines of ink from the back, and sat in his seat wondering what it says.

"Valor son of Thralin is herein named my heir. To serve as Emperor of the Empire until death takes him, in which he will produce the second line of Dragonborn Emperors."

"He's dead, I'm the Emperor now." Althalos seemed disgruntled.

"Of course my Emperor, I did not mean to offed you." The Chancellor apologized. "There is more."

"Lord Althalos Mede is herein gifted the ancient castles and fortresses on the coast of Anvil: the Darkwater, the Broadwater, and the Grimwater." High Chancellor Urandil Redson said.

"The Broadwater is currently inhabited." The Emperor pointed out.

"It is yours now, not theirs. You may kick them out and gift it to whomever you wish, or keep it for yourself, if need be, along with all of the other fortresses mentioned."

"The Broadwater would make for a nice port to Valenwood and the Summerset Isles." Amaund Motierre said.

"The Dominion will get no trade from me; I will hear no more about ports." The Emperor hated the High Elves.

"There is still more on the will." Urandil said, "Lord Destrian Withertooth is gifted the abandoned city of Orston, as payment for his valiant service during the Great War."

"You wan't me to gift the man who tried to steal my throne?" Althalos seemed angered.

"It is your brother's will, it must be done." Urandil said.

"You cannot deny Lord Withertooth Orston, my Emperor." Lady Alysa said.

"He ignored my claim; he deserves no reward for such treason."

"My Lord," Simon stepped in. "It would be most unwise, we would not want to create possible enemies early on."

"If he is foolish enough to name himself my enemy then let him try to challenge me, we will see what will be made of Lord Withertooth if we met on the battlefield."

"Titus Mede II commanded that Lord Withertooth would receive this gift, it cannot be denied, and one Emperor cannot out rule the other." Amaund Motierre said.

Lord Althalos seemed to feel slighted by this, and Simon could tell. He had lost all respect for Lord Withertooth when he tried to become the Emperor, and Althalos was not the type to forget things like this.

"It will be done then." The Emperor struggled to let the words come out, and Simon could tell he was still upset.

"Now, aside from the will, we have more important things to discuss." Urandil brought up, "There is trouble in the cities; we have already received word that riots have broken out in Bruma."

"What are the riots about?" Althalos asked.

"The small folk are…angered, about your ascension to the Dragon Throne." Urandil seemed slightly fearful to say the words. _I do not doubt him; Lord Althalos is an intimidating man. _Simon thought.

"Angered are they? About what?" the Emperor asked.

"I do not possess all of the details, but from what I have heard, they think you robbed the Dragonborn of his throne." Urandil replied.

"He's dead! What about that do these people not understand?" Althalos roared, and many at the table flinched slightly.

"My Emperor, the masses do not seem to believe in the Dragonborn's death." Lady Alysa joined the conversation, "There have been Sellswords, Mercenaries, and travelers from Skyrim that say they have seen the Dragonborn with their own eyes."

"Do not take it seriously though, my lord; the common people are just saddened. They wanted another line of Dragonborn Emperor's; they miss the great days of the Septims. They are in denial of his death" Amaund Motierre said.

"Once they taste my rule, they will no longer hunger for a Dragonborn Emperor any longer. I will bring them peace, but they must give me a chance." Althalos replied.

"And surely they will, just be patient. Soon they will see what a great ruler you will become." Simon assured him.

"You are right as always, Simon." Althalos seemed calm. "And it matters not whether the Dragonborn is still alive; as far as I am concerned he is dead. I am the Emperor, and will not stand to have any more of this 'Dragonborn Emperor' nonsense. The Throne is mine now."

"Of course my lord, but the Counts of the major cities are requesting aid; apparently their city guard is not enough." Urandil said.

"I grow weary of this, have some men be dispatched to any city that needs aid. If the small folk will not stay in line, then perhaps they _will_ if dealt with in force." Althalos said, until everyone heard the door open.

The two guards that had left before were back, and with them was Lady Reya. As fair as ever. Simon had never understood how someone like Althalos had acquired such a beautiful wife. It had always been a mystery to him. Her body was thin, but not too thin to where a stick was wider. Her hair was slightly longer than Lady Alysa's, and was blonde where hers was black. Her skin was slightly darker as well.

"My Lords, I would call this meeting at an end. If you would please excuse us." Althalos said, and that was the cue for everyone to leave.

The Emperor's advisors and counselors rose from their seats, but Althalos stayed there. Simon got up as well; he knew that Althalos always discussed important matters with his wife. She was the only one he seemed to truly trust. _More than his brother and more than me. _

Everyone was headed to the doors, and they all left one by one except for Althalos and his wife. Simon was last in line, and eventually he too had left the room, the door closing behind him. High Chancellor Urandil and Amaund Motierre seemed to be headed to the Elder Council's auditorium, and Simon was headed to the stairs.

When everyone was gone he heard a voice call for him. "My lord…Simon!" it was the voice of Lady Alysa. Simon turned to see her walking briskly towards him. Simon waited, and wondered what the girl wanted.

"Thank you for waiting for me." She said, "May we walk?" Simon nodded, and she wrapped her arm through his, as the two made their way to the staircase. Simon thought he could hear his Lord's voice from his chambers, along with the soft words of Lady Reya as well.

"The Emperor seems to trust you." Alysa brought up, "Have you known him for long?"

"I served him at Anvil during the Great War, and after that I followed him at the Deadwater. I was his most loyal counselor." Simon replied.

"That's always good to hear." She said, "There are very few people here that the Emperor should trust."

"What do you mean?" Simon asked.

"This is a dangerous place, Simon. More dangerous than Anvil, and far more dangerous than the Deadwater. I would check the shadows every now and then if I were you, these people are all liars, schemers, and untrustworthy."

"What makes you say that?" Simon asked.

"Let's just say…I am certain that the person who killed the Emperor was someone here. I do not know who or why, but I know it was one of those Elder Council members, they are always backstabbing each other."

"If this is true, why?" Simon asked, "Why would they want to kill Titus?"

"To rise in power most likely. That's all these people care about, and if you were wise, you would stay out of their way, as I have." Lady Alysa said, "You're new here, so I will give you a warning. Don't trust anyone here, not even me. It will serve you well in the long run, and might just save your life."

**I finished a chapter. Not much really happened here, but I wanted to write about Althalos again, and particularly enjoy writing Simon's POV's. I hope you like reading them as well.**

** What did you think about the chapter? How about the story? Hate them both? Think that I am wasting my time? Think I'm wasting YOUR time? Would you rather be reading the Seasons Trilogy and other stuff than this garbage? Or do you think that this is amazing and deserves to be in some FF hall of fame? TELL ME!**


	11. The Forgotten Lord

The Forgotten Lord

The bowl of grapes in front of him would often entice him to eat, but it did not lately. Ever since Lord Destrian Withertooth had been denied the Dragon Throne on the day of choosing, he had little else on his mind. _I would rather see that fat Orwell than him leading us. _Destrian had respect for Althalos during the Great War, but the man was ruthless, and Lord Withertooth shuddered at the thought of what his reign would be like.

_Even Titus did not want him on the throne, he chose the Dragonborn instead. What does that say about him? _The flashback of when the Elder Council had chosen Althalos came back to his head over and over. It should have been _him; _everyone at God's Eye knew that. _But instead we have a ruthless, paranoid, warmonger on the throne. Divines save us. _No good would come of this, none at all.

Lord Withertooth turned his head to the sound of the door opening slowly. A foot stepped inside, followed by the body of one of his guards. The man was quite old, although he could not be considered elderly. His body was covered in the yellow and black colored armor of God's Eye. The pike in his hand was long and threatening, forged of the finest steel.

"My lord, a courier from Skyrim has come, bearing a message." The man said.

"From Skyrim? Who from Skyrim would want to speak with me?" Destrian asked.

"A question I cannot answer, my lord." The guard replied, "It would be best to see for yourself, if you will it."

"Send the man in, quickly." Lord Withertooth replied, and the guard gave him a curt nod and obeyed his lord. Lord Destrian grew tired of his hunger, and took one of the small grapes form the bowl. When he out it in his mouth, the juices satisfied him for a little while longer, but he would need supper soon.

It took a while, and the Lord of God's Eye waited even more. He surveyed his surroundings once again, taking in all of the information he could. The room was mostly covered in books, along with some tables that would be used to seat guests. There was no bed, as this was just Destrian's personal library. He often came here when he felt like reading or just wanted to think on events.

Finally, he heard the creak of the door slowly opening. When he turned, he saw a young man no older than his early twenties. But his age did not matter, as Lord Destrian waved at the boy to come forward. He was reluctant to do so at first, but soon enough he had summed up enough courage. Destrian pointed to the chair across from his at the table.

The boy sat down. "I hear you have a message for me."

"I do, my lord."

"From Skyrim?"

"Aye."

"Who gave it to you?"

"Some woman covered in a black cloak, she said her name is Delphine."

Lord Withertooth held his hand out, and the boy understood.. His hand reached into one of his pockets, and a few moments later he produced a closed letter, with a seal that Lord Destrian could not identify. He opened the letter, breaking the seal with his fingers.

_Dear Lord Destrian Withertooth, Lord of God's Eye,_

_ Word has reached my ears of your defeat in claiming the Dragon Throne. But also word has reached my ears of the death of the true heir to the throne, the Dragonborn of Skyrim. Should this letter interest you, as I am sure it will, I would like to let you know that the Dragonborn is in my possession._

_ No, he is not dead, and no, he is not gravely wounded. The tale you heard of his death was a lie, given to you by High Queen Elisif the fair, most likely in an attempt to rob him of his throne. He is the true claimant to the throne, and belongs in the seat of the other Dragonborn Emperors._

_ With your help, Lord Althalos will sit on the throne not much longer._

_ We are coming._

_ Sincerely, Delphine._

"Where did you receive this letter?" Destrian asked.

"Outside of Solitude."

Lord Destrian folded the letter and set it on the table. "You may leave now. Thank you for your service."

"You are most welcome, my lord." The young courier showed courtesy even in fear. Destrian could tell he had not been in the presence of many Lords during his short time as a deliverer of messages.

"Hold on!" Lord Destrian shouted to the boy, "Tell the guards to bring Rowan here, quickly."  
The boy nodded, and rushed outside. The door slammed shut, and Lord Withertooth flinched slightly. The noise was loud enough to shock him, yet he did not blame the boy. He was more nervous than any other courier Destrian had seen. _But he brought me valuable information._

Destrian had heard tales from travelers, and Sellswords of all kinds that the Dragonborn had been sighted, but he thought of those as just tales, or lies that had spread too far. He never expected that they could be true. Even more troubling was that High Queen Elisif had lied to the whole Empire, and caused the entire ruckus that had taken place. _Leeches have more honor than her. _Lord Withertooth respected Torygg for being able to rule that land of barbarians that lived in Skyrim, but what Elisif had done was terrible. _Why would she do this?_

But there was also another angle; if the Dragonborn still lived then he would be the true heir to the throne. Althalos would most likely not give it up, and when that time comes, there would be civil war, he was sure of it. _And if I made a decision, it would be to march behind the true emperor, if it could not be me, why not him? _

Then once again he heard something at the door, the sound of a slight knock. Lord Destrian snapped out of his deep thought and rose properly in his chair, "Come in." he said, as the door opened.

In came Rowan, one of Lord Withertooth's finest soldiers. When the Great War came, he was the one that would cut down a dozen knights without breaking a sweat. He was a large man, and considered comely by the women, or pleasant to look at. His hair was cut short and was a dark blonde, which was an odd color for an Imperial.

"You summoned me, my lord?"

"Indeed I did, sit." He motioned to the chair just as he did to the courier. Rowan sat down suspiciously, looking at Destrian and then to the grapes. "Take one, if you wish."

He did just that, except instead of one he took almost half the bowl instead of one. Lord Withertooth did not mind, and let him eat as many as he wanted. Rowan seemed not to notice the letter on the table, so Destrian picked it up and showed it to him.

"A letter came in, from a woman from Skyrim." Destrian said, "And it bore some very interesting news."

"What news?" Rowan asked.

"Take a look for yourself." Lord Destrian handed the man the letter quickly, as he wanted him to read the words right away. It took a moment, as Rowan was not the most learned when it came to letters, but eventually he put the paper down, a confused look on his face.

"He's alive?"

"Apparently so." Destrian replied, "Although the truth of these accusations is debatable."

"But if it's true…" Rowan began, "He is the true heir."

"And the throne is his by right." Destrian finished for him.

"The Emperor will not like this…once he hears of the Dragonborn's survival; he will never give up the throne."

"He will not hear of it till the time is right, assuming the woman who sent this was smart enough not to send the letter to him as well." Lord Withertooth said, "He will not know until we march on the Imperial City with an army."

"You mean to start a rebellion?"

"If the Dragonborn truly lives, then there is no better time. Men by the thousands will flock to support him, and if the Divines will it, we would have an army that would overwhelm the Imperial forces."

"But we are not sure if this is true." Rowan looked worried, "This could be a lie, and we would go to war for nothing."

"I though you would have known better…" the Lord said, "I am not a fool that would blindly run into battle, not knowing whether my cause is just and true. I will make no such actions until I am sure of the Dragonborn's whereabouts and whether he is truly alive."

Rowan seemed clueless, and Destrian did not blame him. He was not even entirely sure himself of what his next move was, and whether it was wise. The coming days would affect the fate of the Empire if this letter was true, and he had to make the right decision.

"They were outside of Solitude when they sent this," Destrian began. "They will not arrive in Cyrodiil for at least a week, depending on how fast or slow they ride. I want you to head to the border."

"Why, if I may ask?"

"To see that he arrives safely. To see if this accusation is true. To see if the Empire can be saved." Lord Withertooth said, "Go to the border, and if you see him, bring him to me."

**Stuff happened this chapter! Well…kind of…you could say this was moving the plot along.**

** Did you guys like it? Tell me our thoughts on Destrian wanting to find the Dragonborn. What do you think will happen next? Will there be rebellion? TELL ME!**


	12. Delphine

Delphine

"Bring some more firewood, and make sure you get enough to last the night." Delphine told them, "Don't want to be out here in the cold, the forests are ruthless here."

Ahzam and Kathil gave her a nod, and the two friends stepped over the supplies and such that had been set down in order to make camp. They had journeyed with her ever since Sky Haven temple had fallen, she had faith they would find them some flammable wood.

_It's cold out here. _Delphine had discarded her Blades armor during the journey, as it would slow her down considerably. Instead she had donned a normal set of traveler's clothes with chain mail underneath in order to ensure some degree of safety. Still, the cold breeze and the dropping temperature affected her. _It will get even colder later, if the recruits don't find some firewood._

So far the journey had gone well enough. They had met few delays on the road (Which were mostly Serana's fault), and when they had decided to journey through the wilderness in order to stay out of the sight of Thalmor spies, they were happy to find that no wild bears or wolves had bothered them. Valor claimed it was destiny, that the Gods had tamed the wild beasts so they would not delay them, Delphine didn't believe that.

Now they were encamped in the southernmost forests of Falkreath, in the treacherous wilderness of Skyrim. These were dangerous parts, and she had to ready for almost anything. Nothing could endanger the mission, it was everything. _It's all I have to live for…_Delphine thought. If Valor died, then the Blades would have failed, and there would be no more purpose for Delphine to remain on this earth. _He is not happy to see me though, that much is certain._

Ever since Esbern and Delphine had asked Valor to kill Paarthurnax, the Dragonborn had wanted to stay away from them as long as possible. Esbern later regretted pushing the duty upon Valor, but Delphine stuck to her belief. The leader of the Greybeards had committed atrocities too terrible to forget. _Justice must be served to everyone, even Paarthurnax. _Valor had tried to tell her that Paarthurnax had saved mankind from the Dragon War, but she knew the truth of it. _Paarthurnax ended thousands of lives and brought terrible destruction to Skyrim. The good deeds do not cancel out the bad. Justice must be served soon._

She heard the sound of movement and quickly turned, slightly startled as her hand went to her sword hilt. She didn't feel embarrassed when she saw Serana behind her, going to sit on the bed roll that was on the ground before the area where the fire should have been. Delphine eased up, letting out a deep breath.

"Don't kill me." Serana commented, "I hope you don't hate me that much."

"Hate is a strong word." Delphine replied. In truth she did not hate Serana, she only disliked her. The woman was a complication, _a distraction. _The Dragonborn should have his mind on more important matters instead of paying attention to this woman.

_Alianor was a better fit for him. _She matched his personality well back then, before she had left him and was killed by Valor himself. She had never told him why she left, probably because she never had a chance. The girl was full of laughter and spirit, yet would bash you with a shield if she didn't like you. Delphine had gotten along well with her for the most part…but this one, she was too stubborn, too quick to anger. _She got angry when Esbern called her a girl. _

"Not strong enough for you," Serana said. "You're acting too paranoid, there's nothing out here."

"You're a fool if you think that." Delphine replied, "There are always monsters and other creatures that are lurking in these woods, ready to prey upon the lesser species. If you don't believe me then we can have you go out there for the rest of the night and see what happens."

"Let's have none of that." The old man, Esbern, called out. "Don't take it personally, my dear. Delphine has always been this way. Ever since the Great War and when the Blades were hunted down, she has grown a hard attitude. She has learnt to survive."

Serana seemed to appreciate the man's words, but most likely not for their meaning. She seemed relieved that she was not conversing with Delphine anymore, which did not offend her in the slightest bit. She cared not if Valor's plaything did not want to speak with her.

"Don't waste your breath Esbern; she doesn't understand what it means to truly survive." Delphine said, "I doubt she has even gone a mile outside of her castle."

Serana turned her head slowly, and soon Delphine could see the scowl on her face. It was full of pure disgust and anger, yet she seemed to hold back as well. Delphine was not intimidated in the least, and didn't look it either.

"You have absolutely _no _idea what I've been through." Serana said.

"And I don't want to." Delphine said, "It would be a terribly boring story."

"More entertaining than yours." Serana retorted.

"You two at it again?" the Dragonborn's voice echoed from the far other side of the encampment, where he got out form his tent. Delphine had the slight suspicion that he had been eavesdropping the while time.

"You two fight more than anyone I've ever met." Valor said, walking to Serana's direction. But the woman rose quickly, giving the Dragonborn a quick look before heading to the tent that he had just come from. Delphine watched her go, and did not regret anything she had said.

"…What's going on with you two?" Valor asked, "Can't you just lighten up a bit?" Valor asked Delphine.

"It's not my fault she wants to talk like she's better than people." Delphine began.

"I think you need to rethink your attitude." Valor said, "Perhaps calm down a little bit, maybe sit down and think about what you're saying."

"Serana can do what she wants and speak to whoever she wants, but I will have no part with her." Delphine commented, "She is a distraction. We would have been in Cyrodiil days ago if she hadn't constantly made us stop."  
"Delphine, I think you need to calm down." Esbern said, "Cyrodiil isn't going anywhere."

"No, maybe not." Delphine replied, "But the Empire is. We have a duty to Tamriel and her people, and yet we have stopped three times!"

"People need to sleep." Valor replied, "How about you-!"

Valor stopped speaking when the three saw the other two Blades coming back with firewood. The two Redguards approached with their arms full of scraps of twigs and anything else that could be flammable. Delphine approached them.

"Good job." She thanked them, "This should work."

"It didn't take long." Ahzam said, "There were twigs and pieces of wood everywhere."

"Did you hear any howling, or signs of wildlife?" Delphine asked.

"None." Kathil spoke, "Aside from the occasional rabbit or elk, there were no other animals out in the forest."

"We could have used some more food, but you did well." She congratulated them, and could tell that the others were watching them from behind. "Take a break for now, Valor will make the fire."

"I will?" Valor asked.

"You know spells don't you?" Delphine turned to him, "How about you use them?"

"Whatever, set the stuff down." Valor said.

The two Redguard Blade recruits took a few steps before they were close enough to set down the wood at the center of the camp. Delphine kept track as flames flickered in the Dragonborn's palms, and even from around ten feet away she could feel a slight sense of heat. When the spell was cast, Delphine could feel the warmth as the fire licked the wood, engulfing it in flame.

"I think that will work." Valor said, "Now if you excuse me, I have a woman to comfort." He gave Delphine a look before he walked off. Delphine ignored it, and took a seat on the ground, the other Blades members around her.

"I think you are being too harsh on the girl." Esbern said, "None of this is her fault."

"We need to get to Cyrodiil now." Delphine said, "It is important that we arrive before it's too late."

"And how would it be too late?" Esbern pointed out, "We are going to start a rebellion most likely, what difference will it make whether we arrive one day earlier."

"Everything," Delphine said, "Althalos can do many things in a day, things that we need to stop."

"You seem to have this misconception that Lord Althalos is some villain." Esbern said, "If I remember correctly, he fought in the Great War for the Empire. He is not our enemy."

"He sits on the Dragon Throne. Anybody who steals the crown from the Dragonborn is our enemy." Delphine said, "The citizens of Cyrodiil do not love him the way they loved Valor, or even Vaeril for that matter."

"Perhaps instead of fighting him, we should try to negotiate with him, and fight the Dominion together." Esbern said.

"He won't give up the throne." Delphine said, "It would be a wasted effort. All we have to hope for is that Lord Withertooth received out message, and maybe we can start making some allies."

Esbern sighed, not in defeat, but in frustration. The other Blades were silent, as the two Redguards did not often join in their conversations. Ahzam and Kathil often spoke to themselves, preferring to stay out of everyone else's business.

"Do what you will Delphine." Esbern said, before he too was walking off.

**Didn't know what to write so I decided to write about everyone's favorite character. People seem to really LOVE Delphine, so being the great person I am, I decided to gift you guys with her POV. And yes, there will be more. You can thank me later…heh…**

** This last chapter was a pain…first it was supposed to be a Yeerlin chapter, then it became an Erikur chapter, then it became this…**

** What do you think of Delphine's attitude? Did I succeed in writing a complete A**-hole? REVIEW!**


	13. Simon III

Simon

With a meeting of the Emperor's advisors soon being held, Simon was speedily heading to the staircase.

He hadn't heard of the meeting until not a few minutes ago by one of the members of the Elder Council, who had felt that it would be wise to let Simon know. Simon had not anticipated going up the stairs this day, but it seemed as if that would have to be the case. He wasted no time pondering thoughts of what the meeting was about or why, he only kept on walking.

That walk eventually turned into a light jog, and then a speedy one, until he found himself before the first steps of the staircase. He climbed them almost every other day, and had not thought he would have to head up to the highest level before. But now he readied himself as he went up the first few steps, hoping the little endurance he had would suffice this time. He thought he could hear the sound of light footsteps above him, echoing through the halls. He followed after them quickly, as he climbed faster and faster. Hopefully he was not terribly late.

Surely it was by the grace of the Divines that Simon was able to head up the first four flights of stairs without putting his hand on his knees and panting like a courier. His legs seemed full of energy, and he kept on going. The sound of the steps got louder as he went, and it did not take long for Simon to see a strand of fabric dragging against one of the stairs. He took a turn to head to the second flight, and saw the Emperor's wife; Lady Reya, walking as well.

"My lady, I did not expect to meet you here." Simon said.

The woman turned back and had a slight grin on her face that made her seem even more beautiful. Simon had spoken with her often at the Deadwater, and thought he had gotten to know her quite well. "My Lord Simon, it is a pleasure to encounter you."

"I had heard there was a meeting and hurried to go up the stairs as fast as I could." Simon said, taking a few steps upward.

"Well you can rest assured that you are not late, but it will be starting soon." She responded, "I was headed there myself, would you care to walk with me?"

Simon took another few steps forward and put his arm through hers, as the two ascended up another flight of stairs. The Bastion seemed a lot larger on the inside then the outside, that much was for certain. Lady Reya kept up with him well, and there were only around four more flights to go.

"I hear there has been some trouble over in the other cities." Reya said, "Word has reached my ears of strife from the townsfolk."

"No doubt they have been angered by Althalos' ascension to the throne, my lady."

Lady Reya's brow furrowed, and she had a slight look of confusion. "Why would they despair? My husband is sure to bring peace to the Empire."

Simon struggled to think of what to reply with, "My lady, how would I put this…the common folk were not expecting Lord Althalos as their Emperor." Simon began, "They cherished the thought of another line of Dragonborn Emperors. Titus understood that, and made him his heir."

"But now that he is dead, the people should come to understand that my husband is the best choice." Reya replied, "It seems foolish to me."

"The peasants don't truly understand much of anything; do not take offense if they do not love Althalos." Simon said, "When he defeats the Dominion, they will learn to respect him, as I did."

"You have been with him since Anvil; such loyalty deserves respect by itself." Lady Reya smiled, as the two continued up the stairs.

"I only did what I thought was right." Simon responded, "He is a great man when it comes down to it. And when the elves come back with evil intentions, the whole land will turn to Althalos for help."

"You're right, but I do hope that day never comes." Reya said, "It is a preposterous thought though, the elves will not rest until we are all rotting in the ground."

"And when that day comes, Lords, Nobles, and peasants alike will see reason." Simon declared.

"Indeed." Lady Reya said when they both were at the door. Simon had no doubt the rest of the group was waiting for them inside. Simon's hand stretched out and grasped the handle of the door, pulling it open slightly. He opened it for Lady Reya, who graciously went inside, and Simon followed.

Althalos was not at his large desk or in his room, which was to be expected. Simon could hear the faint voices of familiar people from the other corridor in the room, and the two of them went to where they were accustomed to every other day. Through the hallway at the right of the room they saw the familiar long, round table. Urandil, Amaund Lady Alysa, and the Emperor sat in silence once they noticed Simon and Lady Reya had arrived.

"My lady." Althalos greeted his wife.

"My lord husband." She went to give a kiss on the cheek to Althalos, and sat directly next to him. Simon on the other hand sat in the only chair that was empty, which happened to be in between Amaund Motierre and Lady Alysa.

"I see you two finally arrived." Althalos commented.

"If I had been warned earlier, I would have arrived sooner." Simon said.

"I too was not aware." Reya said.

"It doesn't matter, you two missed nothing important, I assure you." High Chancellor Urandil said.

"We were just about to begin." Lady Alysa said.

"Well, they're here now." Althalos said, "Can we start now?"

"Of course, my Emperor, I was only waiting for our late guests to get ready." Said Urandil, "Now that I may begin, it seems we have some problems stirring in the province, my Emperor."

"Is this more talk about the riots?" Althalos asked, "I've had enough of those."

"Enough, my Emperor?" Urandil asked.

"Yes, _enough. _These peasants have continued to rebuke my claim, and I have grown tired of it." Althalos seemed to feel slighted.

"Tired or no, all of the common people are in an uproar, the Imperial City seems to be the only sane place. I have heard of death, rebellion, and outrage all throughout the land." The High Chancellor seemed uncomfortable talking about this subject.

"Haven't we talked about this already?" the Emperor asked, "If they continue to rebuke me, then they will suffer my wrath."

"My dear husband, is that so wise?" Lady Reya said, "Perhaps instead of serving them steel, give them love."

"What was that, my lady?" Althalos didn't seem to understand.

"The peasants do not know the kind man that I do, so show them." Lady Reya explained, "Instead of sending troops, send them food to feed their children, clothes to cover themselves, shoes to cover their feet."

"I believe our lady might have a point." Lady Alysa brought up.

"Perhaps so, but how do we know this will calm the people?" Amaund asked, "Food and clothes are nice may stop them for now, but the sword will keep them quiet for a longer time."

"I agree with Motierre." Althalos said, "Not that what you are saying will not work, my lady, but that this method would work better."

"Spread love, not war." Reya told her husband, "Let the peasants see what happens when they behave, and they will continue to do so."

Althalos seemed in deep thought, perhaps considering the idea his wife had given him. Simon sat uncomfortably, desiring to stay out of the conversation. He felt Lady Reya was doing a good job, and did not want to ruin it.

"My lady, that may be a good idea." Althalos said, "A shame my other advisors could not think of such a thing."

_We shouldn't have to think of it. _Althalos should have thought of this on his own, as any sane man would. It only made sense to treat the people well if you wanted their support, not to try to calm them with soldiers.

"Of with you all, and as for you, High Chancellor, make sure food and clean clothes are sent to the cities to be given to the peasants."

"Of course my lord, a most wise choice." Urandil said, rising from his chair. The others did the same, except for Lady Reya and Althalos, who stayed in their seats. Simon was already out the door when he heard the woman speak, and the others were out as well._ I walked all the way up here for a meeting that wasn't even five minutes long._ The High Chancellor went for the stairs, and Lady Alysa gave Simon a nod before she also went there as well. But Amaund Motierre stayed, and looked Simon dead in the eye as he approached.

"You served Lord Althalos at the Deadwater. Am I correct?"

"Indeed." Simon said.

"And what do you think of Lady Reya, my lord." Amaund asked.

"She is a kind woman."

"And would you say she is a good influence on our Emperor."

"Perhaps the only good influence he has."

Amaund seemed to comprehend his words, although his mood darkened, and the hint of a very small smirk appeared on his face. He turned away, his image becoming smaller and smaller. Simon was confused, until he heard, "That is bad news indeed."

**Not much, but its something. I like writing Simon's POV's, a lot more politics involved. In fact, this whole story had a lot more political intrigue and stuff like that than Dragonfire. **

**Did you like it? Did you hate it? Think its worthy of a review? maybe even a favorite? at least a follow? tell me!**


	14. Serana II

Serana

When she heard the bowstring being pulled back, Serana made sure to keep an eye on the deer, hoping dearly that it did not burst in movement. Delphine was the best archer of the group, so she held the bow. Serana made sure to stay away from her, instead preferring to hide behind the bushes with Valor.

She could hear the twang of a bow, and felt a brief gust of wind even from the distance she was at. The iron arrow streaked through the air, the sound mingled with the rustle of the leaves on the trees, and the soft breath of the Dragonborn beside her. The light from the sun allowed her to see as the deer was struck in the side, plunging to the ground with a thud. Delphine had a triumphant look on her face, and she rushed forward to end the life of the deer with one stroke of her dagger. There was no last whimper from the graceful creature, only the sound of death.

"Here's dinner." Delphine said with a slight grin, staring down at her accomplishment.

"Someone should butcher it." Valor said while rising from behind the bush, Serana followed.

"I'll take care of that, but only if you would care to give me a knife." The old man named Esbern told them.

Serana saw Valor reach for his dagger, relieving the small scabbard and holding it by the blade. Esbern grabbed the hilt and took it, a thankful look on his face. Delphine began to drag the deer to a wooden stump, and had no trouble in putting it on top. The old man knelt down and made his way with the deer, cutting it open, with a decent amount of blood getting on his hands.

Serana turned away, but Valor did not. She had no desire to see the insides of a wild animal, brutally murdered in order to provide humans with food. Serana felt the sun's heat beat on her, and had an urge to cower and seek for shade. She wondered what caused these urges. _Is it because I am a Daughter of Coldharbour? _It was very true that she had been no ordinary vampire during her lifetime, and it was very possible that the side effects of her special version of vampirism would accompany her forever. She didn't like to think that though, she was no longer one of those creatures. She was normal now, no longer restricted by the blood. She was free.

She turned back again, and Esbern had already been removing some of the vital organs that were not desired for eating. Valor let out a long breath as he sat down to her right, and with nothing else to do, Serana did the same thing.

"Too tired to stand any longer." Valor said.

"We should almost be there, according to what Delphine says."

Serana replied.

"Didn't realize you listened to what Delphine says." Valor had a slight smile.

"I listen when she says something important." Then she leaned in closer and whispered, "So I don't listen often."

Valor took that opportunity to kiss her on the lips. "Honestly, when I first met her, I didn't either."

Serana could sense another pair of eyes staring at her, and turned to see the cold, hateful look she often received from Delphine. But Serana didn't care anymore; she was tired of being harassed by the woman. _Let her look. _

"We should get moving." Delphine told the group. "Esbern, hurry up with that, I want to get to Cyrodiil by sundown."

"Almost done." Esbern had cut up the deer quicker than anyone Serana had ever seen. The closest thing to it was when the members of Castle Volkihar would skewer and sever the bodies of humans in order to feast upon them later. Lord Harkon had often requested his own humans to feast upon as well, but he did not skewer them. No, Serana had seen him cut them up while they still lived. That had been the final straw, and she finally made every attempt to distance herself from her father.

"They will last us for the night." Delphine said, "Put it in the bags and everyone saddle up, Cyrodiil should be upon us."

First Delphine was on her horse, then Esbern, then the two Redguard Blades, then Valor and Serana. She had ridden for so long that she swore she would never look at a horse again. Traveling through the woods instead of the road had prolonged their journey, but Delphine insisted that they do this in order to stay out of the sight of Thalmor spies. That did not sever all connection with the outside world however, as they had encountered travelers and mercenaries that were startled to find the Dragonborn riding upon a grey mare.

_They all think he's dead. _They had all begun to ride forth while she remembered that. The whole Empire believed him to be murdered, and the reason for the message was still unknown. Valor had not gotten any answer from the High Queen due to her death, and the Blades were just as clueless as she was. But then she remembered one crucial detail that came to her head: if Valor were to die, she would have no reason to live anymore. Surely she could return to Castle Volkihar, but that was the last thing she wanted. Not only that, but she did not regret curing herself of vampirism. _He won't die, he can't._

But Serana knew that wasn't true, not even close. They both were humans now; each of them would die sooner or later. Not only that, but a war was coming very soon, a war that would decide the fate of Tamriel. War is full of death, and if Valor had left her forever, Serana didn't know what she would do.

Snapping out of her dark, depressing thoughts, her steed carried her to the outskirts of the forests in just around half-an-hour. The mountains loomed ahead, not more than a half a mile away. She could see the stone road that would lead to the border of Skyrim and Cyrodiil. Delphine sped up ahead of them, eager to put this journey at an end. Serana had not expected to do the same, and the rest followed suit.

Thankfully the road was not terribly far away, and the absent chills of Skyrim had made the journey so far much easier. She had grown accustomed to the snowy peaks of Skyrim, and now was headed back to the heartland of the Empire. She had been there before for months, but had not expected to return at least for another few years.

The sound the horses hooves made when they hit the ground had always echoed in her ears, yet now it was even worse. Although Serana felt the journey was over, she knew it had only begun, they still had to reach wherever it was in Cyrodiil they were headed. Delphine had not revealed that to them just yet, or at least not to Serana. She never asked Valor, as it didn't really matter to her where they were headed in Cyrodiil, as long as they got there.

They  
were approaching the large wooden gates that marked where Skyrim ends and Cyrodiil begins. The mountains seemed to split on purpose to allow easy passage on the road, to which Serana was thankful. Ahead of them was a Khajit on a horse, covered in steel armor. They passed by him, and Serana noticed the hateful, angry look he gave her. As if he was going to attack her for no reason other than her being there.

They passed him and had approached the gates. They were large, very large, with wooden structure built with it to allow two guards to stand at the top. They were dressed for the Skyrim weather, even though it was not as cold as the other regions in the province. _We got here quicker than I expected. _

"Where are you headed?" one of the guards asked.

"God's Eye." Delphine shouted.

"What business do you have in God's Eye, my lady?"

"Our business is our concern; we ask only that you may honor us with passage."

"All right now, no need to be hasty." Then the guard shouted to the other, whose hand was on the series of levers that would need to be pushed in order to open the gates. He did just that, and slowly the creaking sound of two giant doors opening filled Serana's ears. But when she saw the open land of Cyrodiil in the distance, she was in awe at the sight.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Valor whispered to her from atop his mare.

"Very." She responded.

"Thank you." Delphine shouted, and was also the first one past the gates. The rest followed, and Serana was riding once again. They were ahead of the gate in only a few moments, and when Serana crossed the border into Cyrodiil, she felt no different than in Skyrim. The northern part of the province was very similar to Skyrim, the same snow, and the same familiar chill. Serana knew it would not always be like this though; the Imperial City had been built on hills, and was always warm.

The border was soon behind them, and the center of the Empire ahead. She was growing tired already though, and hoped they would be stopping for the night. She had no idea where God's Eye was, nor its importance, so she assumed it would be a very long ride.

But as they kept on, Serana thought she saw someone in the distance atop a large steed. He was a man; there was no doubt about that. Both he and the group were travelling on the road, yet when they got closer the man seemed to give the impression that he wanted to speak with them. Delphine halted, and so did the rest.

He was a large, brutish man, that much was certain. Delphine spoke with an annoyed tone. "What is it, traveler?"

"I can already tell by the way you speak, you must be Delphine." He said.

"Indeed," the Blades member looked suspicious. "And who might you be?"

"I am Rowan, servant to Lord Destrian Withertooth. It is by the will of my lord that you are safely brought to him." then the man turned to Valor, "And by the grace of the Divines, it _is _you, isn't it?"

**Not much, but good enough. Hopefully you enjoyed it, as I felt like writing today, and I always like writing Serana's POV's, cause she is an amazing character. **

** Do you guys think I do her justice? I know some of you like her POV's, but do you think I capture her personality well? Details like this are pretty important, so it would help to know.**

** By the way, to all of you that haven't, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read the works of BD99, her Skyrim fics are amazing. And some of you may not know this, but it was her work that inspired me to start writing fanfiction. Check out "The Skyrim Alliance; Tai" and so many others, you will not be disappointed!**

** REVIEW!**


	15. Mychael

Mychael

"They are at it again, my Jarl."

"I've had enough of that priest." Jarl Balgruuf said, a sense of anger coming from his voice. "That Quentin fellow has brought nothing but trouble since he arrived here."

_More than trouble, he brought his faith. _Mychael thought, the priest of the old Nordic Gods had often preached in the market during the night. His words had begun to rile the people, especially the girl he had that was said to predict the future.

"He's gained more followers every day." Jarl Balgruuf said, although it seemed as if he was speaking to himself. "Markarth hasn't been this odd since the Draugr invaded. That priest is starting to scare the men, and they need as much courage as they can to serve here."

"The guards will do as they are asked, they are loyal men." Mychael promised.

"You taught them well, Legate." Balgruuf replied, "But I still feel weary and uncomfortable. Go see what Quentin is up to, and take some men with you, I don't want to lose the last friend I have."

"Of course my lord, I will go at once." Mychael bowed to his Jarl, and gave a nod to the two guards who would usually protect Markarth's leader. He did not say anything, he did not have to. Mychael had been told that his men would follow him to no end.

_Let's hope they can use that sword. _Mychael thought, ever since the priest had come to Markarth and stirred the refugees, there had been much tension in the stone city. Men who followed the old Nordic gods often got into fights and brawls with those who worshipped the Empire's pantheon. Mychael himself had witnessed one of his own men cut down by a rabid Dark elf, praising the name of Herma-Mora.

He went down the stone stairs as he did every day. Ever since the Draugr war, Mychael had spent his whole time helping Jarl Balgruuf keep Markarth under control. All of the survivors and refugees had been sent to the city of blood and silver, to live amongst the rest of those whose lives were ruined by the war. Mychael, having no home, came here as well. _But not to live, to serve. _General Rikke had raised him to Legate herself. And in return he would serve Jarl Balgruuf as he did at Whiterun.

The Dwemer doors were not far away, and when he was headed in that direction, the other guards followed as well. Around five men were at his back, even without asking. Markarth was dangerous at night, if the people didn't get you, the ghosts of the fallen would.

He shoved the doors open, wasting no more time than he had to. Outside, Markarth looked the same as it always had. There was little damage from the war, as the city was made almost completely of stone, and was carved in the mountain. Whenever Mychael had the opportunity to look at it, he wondered how the Draugr could have taken this city. _It is supposed to be nearly impenetrable; who would have known it would not be as defendable as people thought?_

While before the nights were often silent, now they were filled with the sound of cheers, cries, and shouts. The priest had often attracted a large crowd of dedicated followers, and Mychael would not interfere. He had no right to not allow them to worship whatever gods they chose. _That's the Thalmor's job. _

While he and the men went down more steps, they walked along the stone floors and such that would take them to their destination. Often he would enjoy hearing the sound of the water coursing on stone, but now it was drowned with the sound of worship. He could hear Quentin's voice from here, full of anger, yet joy. Provocation, but promise. It echoed of the stone structures, and one could hear him from the other side of the city.

Finally he came closer to the market, yet he could not see the closed stalls, as the crowd around the priest was too large. Markarth's population was diverse, full of elves, men, and beasts. He could see Quentin, a Breton cloaked in orange and black robes, with an eye in the middle as well. _Hermaeus Mora's eye._

His words were pure fire. "Will we stand and watch while the realm is destroyed by the false gods of the Empire? They defiled our churches to instead place their shrines, and they cut down our followers and called us pagans! But we know what they do not, we know what is coming!"

The men and women cheered, and the voices of the different races mingled together to sound almost similar to the roar of a dragon. Quentin's own clothes symbolized fire, wisdom, and knowledge. He often spoke about them, and claimed that only those who preached of the old gods were clad in them.

"We see what others do not! Herma-Mora has blessed us with a girl who sees the future, who dreams of what shall come, who predicts of death and destruction! But the Empire would not listen, and neither would Skyrim! Heretics they call us, yet we see the truth!"

His voice was like the crack of thunder in Mychael's ears, and even though he did not follow the old gods, he understood what drew all of these people in. It was as if a fire was in their eyes, a burning desire to return the influence of the true gods. _Half of them aren't even Nords, yet they worship Nordic gods._

"Let Alduin's mighty fires drown you in their beauty! It was he who would have brought the world death and destruction, yes, but only to those who deserved it! He was to cleanse the world and restore _us _as his faithful servants! Yet the plan for a perfect world was thwarted by one who I name Devil! The Dragonborn fights for the false gods of the Empire, and stopped what would have made the world whole and perfect again!"

Then, the crowd went wild. Curses were about, forsaking the name of the Dragonborn and praising Alduin, god of destruction. And it was as if the World-Eater was still among them, their cries and praises had made it seem as if he was with them.

"Let the power of Herma-Mora reign down on you, his followers. It was his knowledge that allows us to understand, to comprehend the majesty of the gods. It is he who gifts us the ability to remember, to learn, to teach. He is the god of everything knowledgeable! Pray for his coming, as I have! Pray he may cleanse the world where Alduin failed!"

_Herma-Mora…_something about that name made Mychael shudder. The being was a Daedra, even Mychael knew that, but Quentin and his followers did not. To them Herma-Mora was just one of their gods, worthy of worship and praise. He could see men dropping on their knees, hands clasped, and praying to the lord of knowledge for wisdom and guidance.

"Pray mercy over Dibella and Mara, who were shoved alongside false divines, and are worshipped by those who do not truly understand them. But I understand! They want us to spread out faith, to turn the world from the path it is headed! It is by the will of the gods that you and I stand here today, to restore order!"

"Order!" the crowd cheered, and then Mychael felt odd. "Get back." He told his guards, and they quickly went of the stairs, not sure why the Legate had commanded them so. _Something doesn't feel right. _

Then, Quentin closed his eyes, and the crowd went silent. Mychael had never seen this before, usually the priest would ramble on and on, and maybe shoot fire from his hands in the name of Alduin. Yet this was different, he seemed calm, and for a second…wise.

His eyes shot back open, "Lord Herma-Mora…has just spoken to me!" then he shouted louder than he had ever before, "The Gods of the Empire and Skyrim have for too long tainted our lands! Our gods were here first, and we shall restore their reign against the 'divines' forever!

"Markarth stands in a pit of darkness, and it is our job to shine light, and illuminate its people, so that they may see reason and understand. But in order to do this, we must show the new gods the power of the old, and show their followers that we will not be trifled with! Head to the shrine of Talos, and we shall desecrate it in the name of the old gods!"

Quentin was enraged, and when he raised his hands, Mychael could feel the heat even from the stone stairs. _This isn't good. _Then, the priest summoned the green fire that Mychael had seen before, yet this time there was more. It rained down from the skies, instead of the normal embers of two that he would usually conjure. Mychael backed away, as did his guards, while the citizens of Markarth found anything sharp and ran.

Mychael was the first to dash to the shrine, heading up stairs, and then his guards followed. They hesitated at first, but when the mob approached there was only one choice. It was chaos, and Mychael did not shy away from drawing his sword. He couldn't see Quentin anywhere; perhaps the priest was in the back. _It doesn't matter now. _If something didn't happen, it would be a dangerous night.

Mychael had never seen the people stirred like this, and when the mob had made it up the stairs; he could see that most had torches. _Not Alduin's fire, but it's still fire. _When they saw Mychael and the guards standing in front of the door to the shrine, they stopped. _We are risking our lives for a shrine of a god the Empire doesn't even allow us to worship. _

"Stand aside, soldiers." The priest had made his way to the front, "You do not wan't to invoke the wrath of the gods."

"No, but we _do _want to keep the peace." Mychael replied.

"There is no peace that can be brought upon Markarth while it is still caught in the shadow of lies and deceit. You all have been fooled to worship the idols of the Empire. Please do stand aside, and let _us _restore peace."

"I don't see any peace coming from this so far." Mychael retorted.

"In order to achieve peace, one must first wipe away all opposition." Quentin said, "These are the gods of _your _people, why would you rebuke them in favor of a man worshipped as a divine? Blasphemy I say!"

"I've had enough of this." Mychael was ready for anything at the moment, "Leave this shrine in peace, and no harm will come to you. Make a move, and we will be forced to retaliate."

There was silence, aside from the sound of water hitting rock on the left side of the city. Markarth had never been this quiet, not even before the Draugr war, when everything was somewhat normal. The citizens had odd faces, filled with contemplation, but the priest had none.

"A god's wrath is not likely swept aside." Quentin said, and from his cloak sprang two daggers. Letting them loose from his fingers, he threw them forward, and Mychael watched as they did not hit him, but two of the soldiers next to him. They fell to the ground, with steel stuck in their chest. The crowd went forward, and he could hear the vague shouts of the other guards of the city, yet none of that mattered now.

He swept aside a dagger that came for him, and sent his blade directly through a woman. He felt no shame in it; these people had chosen their own fate. His guards held them back well in the beginning, and Mychael thought he could see what looked like arrows streaking in the air to hit some of the citizens that were easy targets. Yet there were simply too many, and the man to his right had been hit on the head with a wooden plank, and did not get up. The other to his left had lasted a few moments longer but was finished as his clothes were slowly set ablaze by one of the torches. Mychael back away as far as he could, his body pressed against the Dwemer doors.

He didn't have time to respond to the next thing that had happen, all he could do was fall as he felt something hit his head. He remembered seeing more arrows, and guards rushing in to stop the riot. Yet his vision was already fading, and as he saw more fire explode from Quentin's arms, his eyes were dropping more and more with every second. Until eventually he couldn't keep them open any longer.

**Hey guys, so after much contemplation I brought Mychael back. I always planned on it, but originally was going to do it much later in the story, but changed my mind.**

** Hope you liked it, as I enjoyed writing it. So far I think I like writing this story more than Dragonfire, probably because its more political in a sense. Hope its just as good if not better though.**

** So…REVIEW!**


	16. Valor IV

Valor

When they had marched into the castle of God's Eye after at least a day's journey, the people seemed oblivious to who Valor was and why he was here. It did not surprise him, most of Cyrodiil had never seen the Dragonborn before, and even more hadn't heard of him until he was named Titus' heir. But still, the guards seemed to know him, with several men stationed at the roads in order to block the masses should they gather. _Nobody here knows me…this is good._

Rowan was in the lead, with Delphine following close behind. The rest of the group was lagging, with Esbern in the back. Valor, Serana, and the two Redguards were in the middle. And while Delphine had been suspicious of the soldier, Valor felt no sense of danger around Rowan.

The castle was forged of cleaner stone than anything in Skyrim. It was built upon flat land, with the central keep which was obviously where Lord Withertooth resided, towered over the rest of the fortress. In truth though, it was more of a city than a fortress, with its own people and soldiers loyal to Lord Destrian. But the second large building in God's Eye was the tower of the Divines, which jutted out to the sky like a mountain. At the top looked at first like a bell, but Valor noticed that it was something else. _The eye of the gods? _

"Come this way, Lord Withertooth is surely waiting." Rowan said from the front.

They sped their horses from a walk to a trot, the hooves beating against the stone road was noticed by almost everyone around. It was then that they noticed Rowan, the great warrior of the Great War among them, and some smiled, others waved. None gave even a look to Valor, nor the rest of them. _They think of me as any other man. _While in Skyrim he would want nothing more than to be normal, now he wanted people to recognize him.

It took around ten minutes to reach the far side of the 'fortress', and soon enough they were facing stairs that went up even farther than the ones for Dragonsreach. Rowan leaped off his horse, since nobody was there to help him. The rest of the group did the same, with Delphine and the rest of the Blades walking very close to Valor, almost as if they were protecting him. _They are my guards now, like the Septim Emperor's Blades. _Serana stared in amusement, and Valor responded with a small laugh.

He thought he heard Rowan say something, but Valor was only half-paying attention. So when the group had begun their ascent to the main keep, he saw his guardians lay a hand on their weapons of choice. Delphine was in the front, the two Redguards on the side, and Esbern behind. He could hear Serana laughing from behind, but didn't turn to look.

His legs did not tire, but he did start to get annoyed with the amount of climbing he was forced to endure. _Why did they have to make so many stairs? _He would usually think the same thing at Whiterun while climbing to Dragonsreach, and never found an answer. When he was finally at the top, he did not look back. He did not want to be reminded of what he had just endured.

The doors were just in front of him, the smallest part by far of the keep. It as well was made of stone, yet it lacked the rough, dirty look of the rest of the stone city, instead looking more vibrant and beautiful. There were four guards stationed in front of the doors, and when they approached, the men moved aside to let them pass.

"He is inside." Rowan told them, shoving the doors open without even a hint of struggle. Valor walked inside, his Blades dispersing at once, since the Dragonborn was in no further danger. Inside, the keep looked very similar to Dragonsreach's style, except with stone instead of wood. A small set of stairs led to the court, where a large dinner table was before the Lord's throne.

"You have arrived, Delphine." The man in the chair shouted, "Come closer, let me see him."

They went forward quickly, and Serana joined them as well, walking right next to the Dragonborn. When they got closer Valor got a better look at Lord Withertooth. He was a large man, or at least larger than Valor was. He was considerably older as well, and looked to be middle-aged at the least. A longsword leaned against his throne. Even Valor could tell it was forged of the finest steel, with a black hilt made of leather.

Lord Withertooth inspected him from afar. "Ah, yes…he fits the description well. But there is only one way to know for sure, shout for me, boy."

"What?" Valor asked.

"Shout, isn't that what the Dragonborn does? Show me a shout, and we will continue."

Valor was slightly shocked at first, but then he snapped out of it, and picked a direction where there would be no people. Deciding to aim for the table, he sucked in as much air as his lungs could take in. And exhaled with the words, "FUS RO DA!"

The force was enough to send the knives and forks flying to the stone walls, one fork even got stuck there. The guards gasped, and Valor looked at his work with pride. But when he turned to Lord Destrian, he did not seem impressed.

"You are the Dragonborn, there is no doubt about that." He told them, "Come with me, we have much to discuss."

Valor's first instinct was to turn to Serana, and gave her a nod that said 'stay here.' Valor walked forward, while Lord Withertooth rose from his chair and headed to a hallway to his far left. The Blades followed, as they had sworn to many years ago.

The room in which the mysterious Lord Destrian had led them to was not large, and Valor found himself inside almost less than five minutes after beginning. Although it was wide enough for some decent walking space, and Valor saw a rack full of weapons on the far side of the room. Lord Destrian went to the table in the middle, with a bowl of grapes on it. He waved for Valor to join him, and he did.

"I don't suppose Delphine told you why you are here at my fortress." Destrian said.

"She did, my lord." Valor said.

"Did she? Good, we need you to be prepared for what is coming."

"The only thing that is coming is me sitting the throne, as is my right as Dragonborn." Valor replied.

"_Right _is a strong word. If it is truly your right, then the Gods would allow it, and as to that we shall see in the future. But something stands in your way, and I am sure you know what that is."

"Lord Althalos." Valor confirmed.

"Aye, you're not oblivious to the problem. Titus' brother was always a stubborn one; it is very unlikely that you will ever become Emperor peacefully while he sits the Dragon Throne."

"I don't know very much about Althalos…" Valor brought up, "What can you tell me about him?"

"Hah! What could I not tell you?" Lord Destrian seemed amused with the question, "Lord Althalos is a dangerous man when you are on the opposing side of the field, I can tell you that now. He is no idle soldier, all of Cyrodiil knows that. During the Great War, when the Imperial City was being ransacked, the first person Titus asked for help was his brother. There was nobody better. But he was stuck at Anvil, and doing something even more remarkable. Holding it while outnumbered ten-to-one."

"Sounds like a great commander." Valor noticed.

"Aye, that he is, but the Great War hardened him, and turned him into someone else. He dwells on his fear that the Elves will return again, and has based his whole lifestyle around it. He inspires no love or passion, only fear and submission. Such a man is not fit to be the Emperor, and if this is not fixed soon, I fear for the Empire."

"First it sounded like you admired him, now it sounds like you hate him." Valor responded.

"As a commander, there are few who were better. You thought that fool Tullius was a true general? There was a reason he was sent to Skyrim, and it may not be what you think. Althalos is good at what he does, but a leader of an Empire he is not. His philosophy is too reliant on steel and war to solve things, and that is not a good trait for the Emperor."

"Tell me the truth, my lord; why am I here?" Valor was not sure himself.

"To start a rebellion." The way Destrian said it sent chills up Valor's spine.

Then, Lord Destrian Withertooth took a grape from the bowl. "To put you on the throne, that is why you are here. It was Titus' will that you would ascend to take his place, and take his place you will. You have fought in several wars, am I correct?"

"Very." Valor replied.

"The Civil war and the Draugr war. While those were very dangerous and deadly indeed, the coming one will be much larger, and will decide the fate of the Empire as we know it. I hope you are ready, Dragonborn."

"Call me Valor." he replied.

"Valor…a name fit for one of your stature. The Dragonborn should have a name to inspire thousands, and soon enough you will." then, Lord Destrian ate another grape. "Do you know what happens next?"

"You tell me." Valor answered sarcastically.

"War." Destrian finished, "My soldiers will assemble, and I will send letters to each of the Lords and Counts of Cyrodiil. With luck they will pledge to us, and we can continue this little partnership."

Valor sat in silence, contemplating whether what he was going to do was the right choice. If war began, it would affect Cyrodiil for years, yet if what Lord Withertooth said was true, Althalos was likely to do far more damage than good.

"Come with me." Destrian said, rising from his table. Valor waited a second, not sure what was going on, but when Lord Withertooth was headed to the weapon rack, Valor's hand instantly went to his sword hilt.

"Calm yourself, I only wish to test your abilities." Lord Destrian chuckled, "If I am to follow you and name you my Emperor, I would like to see what you can do."

Valor rose slowly, drawing hiss word. But Destrian waved that away. "You can't use that. Are you trying to kill me? Take one of these blunt blades, and let us spar."

"Shouldn't we go out to a training yard, or…anywhere else but here?" Valor asked.

"No."

Valor obliged, and quickly took a few paces forward to the weapon rack. He did not have to look at the selection; he simply took the first sword that met his eye. His hand stretched out and he held it in his hands. It was long, although the sides were very blunt, and the point as well. Lord Destrian had one as well, and in the room they faced each other.

"I will warn you, I may be old, but I can hold my own."

_We will see. _Valor went first, his sword arm flying outwards to send a strike to the side of Destrian's body. But the Lord blocked it with ease, knocking the blade aside to send a light jab right at Valor's abdomen. He let out one simple cough in slight pain, and he could see the Lord smile.

"Not starting out too well."

Then, Valor brought down his blade down with a large amount of force. Destrian simply danced to the side, his own sword coming with a swift stroke that barely skimmed against Valor's stomach. The Dragonborn let out a soft breath in shock, and then returned to his normal state. Lord Withertooth had a smirk across his face, and patted his blade with his other hand.

The Dragonborn of legend slightly bended his knees, and lunged forward with a leap of energy, raising his arm over his shoulder and slicing down. But the blow was caught with Destrian's own, and they were locked together.

"We will have to work on your fighting." Lord Withertooth said.

"I've been riding for a long time and am exhausted; if I had my full strength you wouldn't say that."

"Good, an ego. You'll need it."

Destrian stopped pushing with his blade, and took a few steps back. "Get some rest, Dragonborn. When you wake up, we may just have a war on our hands."

**New chapterz! Ermagherdz! Jkjkjkjk, hope it was decent, as for some reason I had trouble writing this one. I am not entirely sure why, but leave some feedback in the review section.**

** REVIEW!**


	17. Simon IV

Simon

"I'll have no more talk about that damned Dragonborn." Lord Althalos roared, "He's dead! Nobody has seen him unless it's a ghost."

"My lord, we cannot out rule the possibility." High Chancellor Urandil said, "More and more travelers claim they have seen the Dragonborn every day. Now even men from God's Eye have claimed he is in the city right now."

"Liars, the lot of them." Althalos retorted.

"We have also received word from one of our subjects that Lord Destrian Withertooth has sent a letter to every Count in Cyrodiil. Our faithful Lord Orwell has told me that Lord Destrian plans to rebel."

"Rebel?" Althalos asked, "What do you mean?"

"It is self-explanatory, my Emperor. Lord Withertooth has sent couriers to every city and town in Cyrodiil, requesting their support. He claims in the letter that he has the Dragonborn."

It was then that Lord Althalos had a face Simon had never seen before. It was full of rage, anger, and disappointment. "Have any declared for him?"

"So far only Bruma has sent their warriors. And from what I hear, none of the other cities have responded as of yet."

_Bruma, those are the Nords. _The city use to be dominated by Imperials, but after the years had passed the city had seemed to contain more and more of the Nordic people as time went by. The Nords were fearsome warriors, and were deadly in battle. It made all the sense in the world that they would side with Lord Destrian, assuming he truly had the Dragonborn.

"I gave Bruma food and clothes for their peasants, and how do they repay me? With treason!" Althalos was shouting now, and the whole council looked frightened.

"My lord, you must forgive the Nords in Bruma." Simon joined in the conversation, "Their whole race revolves around the prophecy of the Dragonborn. Would it not make sense for them to leap with joy if they heard news of his survival?"

"No, it doesn't." Lady Reya said, "They have not yet felt the justice my husband will bring down upon them. Woe unto the people of Bruma, as they will know the error of their ways."

"My lady, was it not you who was telling Lord Althalos to be merciful just a few days ago?" Simon asked.

"That was before they paid the generosity of my lord husband with treachery. There are times to be loving and giving, but a shepherd has his rod, and sometimes he must use it."

_A shepherd has his rod. _What was Althalos' rod? Most likely it was the might of the Imperial Legion. But that was a dangerous force, and no doubt Althalos would show no mercy. _If the Shepherd continues to beat the sheep, will they still follow him?_

"My lord, I advise caution." Simon said, "Perhaps we should seek out the truth of these rumors? And If the Dragonborn still lives-!"

Althalos interrupted, "Then he can take my throne? I think not. It should have been mine in the first place. Vaeril was killed in the Draugr war, and Titus was murdered. I should have been the next in line, but damned Titus had to rob me of this too. Well, I don't feel like giving my crown up, so if that was what you were going to say…"

"It was not, my lord." Simon began, "I was going to say that possibly we could have some peaceful interaction, maybe negotiate with Lord Destrian, and if the rumors are true, the Dragonborn as well. We share a common enemy, would it not be wise to not fight each other and save our strength for when it matters?"

"The Dragonborn no doubt thinks that he can just ask and I will give him my crown. I don't think he deserves it. Why should I hand over the largest Empire in Tamriel's history to a boy who barely even knows which side to hold his sword? Titus was a fool to make someone so young and inexperienced as his heir, I will not make the same mistake."

The advisors had no reply. Everyone was speechless save for the empty seat for Amaund Motierre. For an odd reason he had not come, not explaining to anyone where he had gone.

"So, if I may ask, what do you mean to do about this situation with Lord Destrian and Bruma?" Lady Alysa asked.

"Anything I can." Althalos said, "This is the second time Lord Withertooth has slighted me, and I have had enough. I think it is about time someone humbled him."

_It is you who needs to be humbled, my lord. _Simon wanted to say it, but he did not dare. He would serve his Emperor with undying loyalty until he died, but that did not mean he had to agree with him. Simon was not a stranger to harsh truths, and Althalos was in need of one.

"I think we should send some men." the Emperor declared.

"Lord Althalos, let us not be too drastic-!" the Chancellor began.

"It's not being too drastic when someone has openly defied the Dragon Throne. Lord Withertooth has forsaken the Empire forever with his actions, and I will not let this rebellion grow any larger than it needs to." The Emperor said.

"You are willing to start another war based on personal gripes?" Simon asked, "I thought you better than that, my lord."

"You should best keep your mouth shut Simon, or you may not have a tongue to speak with anymore." The Emperor was clearly angry.

Simon knew he would never do it, but he kept silent anyways. His eyes ventured over to Lady Reya, who was sitting in silence. _He's gone mad. _Simon thought, and he knew it was true. These actions would put the realm to war, and damage the Empire beyond repair, yet Simon could do nothing to stop it.

"High Chancellor, it would be best for you to notify the Elder Council at once of what is happening here. Tell them that the time has come for war. Let them know that rebellion ill not be tolerated under my rule."

"Of course, my lord." The Chancellor rose from his seat at once, a few books in his hand. "I will call a meeting at once." The man slightly jogged for the door, and everyone's eyes followed him. Simon was still shocked by what was happening. He looked to Lady Reya again, and saw her face. It was full of emptiness, with no emotion.

"Lady Alysa, you may leave." The Emperor said, and the court-wizard was already pacing to the door with a noticeable speed.

"Fetch me and my lady wife some food at once, I am quite hungry." Lord Althalos told one of his guards, and the man gave the Emperor a nod and left the door. Simon's eyes were on his Emperor though, never leaving him.

"Is there something you need, Simon?" Lord Althalos seemed annoyed.

"I think you acted boldly, my lord."

"Boldly? Is it not my job to be bold?" Althalos asked.

"Your job is to bring peace to the Empire." Simon replied.

"Is it really? I had no clue." Althalos said, "I know what my job is, and I am doing just that. It was Lord Destrian who has openly acted against me. Why should I take the blame for something he started?"

"It is true that he started this, but it is your job to take the safest route possible. Negotiate with Lord Withertooth and the Dragonborn if his words are true. Do not deal out war when it is not needed."

Althalos still looked annoyed. "I would not do what I do not think is right. The realm will bleed if this turns into a full-fledged rebellion, I will do what I can to see that this is dealt with."

"Will you ride out yourself?" Simon asked.

"Of course not, my actions are not required. My legates will do that for me. If I am truly needed then I will go, but not a moment soon and not a moment after."

The door opened, and the guard came back in with a platter of food. Simon could see what looked like salted pork, along with some grilled leeks and what looked like Caniss Root. Lady Reya and Althalos remained at their seats, as did Simon. The guard set the food down in front of his Emperor and Reya.

"I am assuming that you would not like to watch us eat." Althalos told Simon, "You do need to stay if it is not your wish."

"I will go then, my lord." Simon rose from his seat slowly, keeping an eye on the man he thought he once knew. Althalos was already eating, but Lady Reya was staring at the Caniss Root with an odd face. "What is this?"

"Caniss Root, my lady." Simon told her, "I've never tasted it myself, but I know some people like it."

Lady Reya took one large bite out of the Caniss Root, and with a crunch she was already eating it. Simon was already turning to leave. "This is-!" then, Simon heard a crash, and turned back around.

Lady Reya was on the ground, her hands coiled around her neck as she struggled to breath. She was writhing around like a worm on the floor, and Althalos was staring down with horror. "Guards!" he shouted, yet they could do nothing. _That was not Caniss Root, that was…I don't know. _

The sound was like nothing Simon had ever seen. Lady Reya's eyes were wide open, and she could not breath. She began to claw at her neck, thinking that would relieve the pain. But it did not, and her life was gradually slipping away. Simon remembered Amaund Motierre's last words to him, about how he had asked of Lady Reya. _He was not here, this was his work. _And as Lady Reya finally stopped moving, Simon knew she was dead.

**Good enough, I hope. I tried to make this an Erikur chapter, but I had ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA what to write about, so I did this instead. Hope you all liked it. There was plenty of dialogue in it, that's for sure.**

** REVIEW!**


	18. She who dreams

She who Dreams

Arianna's small hand reached out for the blade, which was forged from pure Dragonbone. It was a long sword, double sided, and when she touched it her hand felt slightly burnt. She flinched, drawing her arm back almost instantly. She could hear the faint whispers of what seemed to be those who had been forgotten. _The sword, remember the sword. _

"Who are you?" she asked, and when she got no answer, Arianna began to shout. She was scared, and she knew the voices could tell. Then she saw shadows begin to dance around her in a circle, their identities impossible to figure out. She heard the sound of a man scream, and the clangor of battle and war. She looked around, searching for a source of light that had made the shadow, and she found fire.

It was a small flame, burning less than say a camp fire. Arianna had a sense that this meant something else. The strangers whispered in her ears again, _"This is the flame of life and death, of hope and hopelessness. It is what keeps the world of Nirn in balance; it is the resemblance of survival for the mortal plane. _Then, the shadow put his hand over the small flame, and when he raised his arm it was gone. He screamed louder than anything Arianna had ever heard, _"It takes blood to keep the fire lit. We have been forgotten, but there are some who still may keep the flame alive, in cost of their life."_

_ Who keeps the flame lit? _Arianna thought, yet she did not have much longer. It was gone; the source of light had escaped them. The strangers were leaving her, except for the one who had spoken to her. _"There will be two, capable to keep the fire lit."_

_ Two? _"What is the fire? What does it mean?" Arianna asked.

_"You will know when the time comes, all of Tamriel will answer the call, and the flame of life and survival may yet have hope." _The sound the shadow made when he said it sent shivers down Arianna's spine.

He left her too, alone in darkness. She waited there for a while, looking around to see something…anything. There was nothing, except for a table that had randomly appeared in front of her, with an hourglass on top. Sand was falling rapidly from the top to the bottom, and she was compelled to turn it over. She didn't though, as her hand would not answer her commands.

That disappeared, and she could see that the darkness was turning to something else. She saw a foreign land, and heard the clashing of steel and the cries of the fallen. It was a large plain with rolling hills in the distance, and was close by the sea. She had never been here before, as it was considerably different than Skyrim. She could hear battle, but could not see it.

She took a few steps, and could hear the clash of steel all around her. She kept on turning her head quickly, searching for where the sound could be coming from. She saw none, except for the small figures on the distant sea. She approached the shore that was not far away, and squinted her eyes. It did not take long for her to tell what they were. _Warships. _

She could see a large bird in the distance, and kept her eyes on it until that vision was fading too. The clangor and clashing of war and death was leaving, and her ears no longer felt maimed. She put her hands to her forehead, as the loud noise had given her a headache.

"Your soul goes to me and Hermaeus Mora!" a voice that sounded like a threatening rasp shouted, and yet Arianna saw nobody around her. The sword was back again though, sitting in front of her as if asking her to grab it. She reached down and tried again, except this time a brief vision of a man who lived a long time ago came to her. He seemed strangely familiar, and his mask looked to be of tentacles. Her hand was not burnt however, and she picked it up.

She heard the brief roar of dragons, and the whispers of a tongue that she could not identify at this moment. She had heard it before though; in one of her other visions long ago before the Draugr invaded Winterhold. The voices grew louder, and louder, and louder, until she was covering her ears and screaming.

_Son of dragons…Dragonborn_

Over and over again she heard those same words, and it seemed as if they would never go away. She began to cry, feeling the warm tears course down her cheeks. Yet nobody was there to help her, nobody to console her or comfort her. She was alone in this darkness, and she hoped she would wake quickly.

Then a tentacle slapped at her hand with a force unimaginable, the sword taken from her, and the pain was unbearable. "This is the blade that will determine the fate of Tamriel." The great eye that she was no stranger to said, "This is the blade of creation and destruction. It is the will of dragons, and the terror of Dragonfire."

The eye looked down at her, and did nothing but blink. She had not grown to fear it, as it had spoken to her many times before. Arianna felt comfortable now, but the stare that the eye was giving her made her eager to wake.

More tentacles went forward, but not to strike her. Instead they carried a book, bound by black leather with the illuminating sign of Daedric letters. She reached out for it and grasped it, and when she opened the cover she could hear the laughter of one who had been killed and forgotten. Then she heard the voices of those who were accursed, and her visions were blotted out with green flame, and Dragonfire.

* * *

She woke as she always did, in her bed. It was as soft and comfortable as a bed made of stone could be. She briefly rose slightly from it, lifting her arms in order to rub her eyes. Quentin was gone know, she was alone, with only her thoughts to give her company.

Usually the Priest would give her company, and ask her of her dreams, but now there was nobody. Quentin was in the Jarl's personal dungeon; Cidhna Mine was too dangerous for him. Most likely he would not have left the place alive. Many of the prisoners were devout followers of Talos or the Emperor's gods, and would not take kindly to Quentin's actions.

_Those dreams…what did they mean? _Arianna would never know. It was usually Quentin that would decipher the meaning for her. But she never thought they were true, the only one that was nearly successful was Gweryan back in Winterhold. And she was clueless as to where he was.

She got out of bed and looked for the book that Quentin kept in his personal library. It was on the other side of the house, and Arianna did not take long to find it. "Deciphering dreams." It was called, written by a Khajit scholar. But when she opened the text it was implausible, stating that swords meant "The sharpness of the human mind."" And that fire meant, "The burning desire of the human heart." She set the book down not long after, trusting only in her thoughts.

_What do these dreams mean? _

**Short, but its something. I hope it was enjoyable, and I challenge you to try to decipher the meaning of these dreams. If you can, you may just have predicted some of the story.**

**Everyone, I have a question for you all. I have added new pOV's in this story, so I have to ask which one of the new ones is your favorite. How do you think they match up to the old ones? I do realize that I need to stop neglecting ones like Erikur and Yeerlin though, so they will probably pop up soon.**

**REVIEW!**


	19. Yeerlin II

Yeerlin

It was nothing abnormal when Yeerlin was called to Elenwen's solar once again. It had become a daily routine now, with her constantly informing him on the current events in Cyrodiil, the plans that Allalian and the Dominion were making, and what was coming for them in the future.

"Our spy in the Elder Council has told us that Althalos Mede's wife has befallen an ill will and met death by poison not two days ago." Elenwen told him.

"And what spy was this?" Yeerlin wondered.

"Amaund Motierre, the master of the Elder Council. One of the Empire's most famous politicians is on our side, and soon enough we will have the whole Council in our pocket."

"Where is this man now? Surely Althalos is not sitting still after his wife is dead."

"From what I heard he fled to Alinor. Allalian has taken personal charge to see that no danger comes to him, and also that nobody knows where he went. His disappearance should be as silent as a shadow to anyone outside the Imperial City."

"But wouldn't Althalos know that he did it if he flees?" Yeerlin asked.

"Yes, but we don't want to keep it a secret. That does nothing for us, let him know what happened, it will sow distrust among him and the Elder Council. He already has trouble putting faith in his Council before, now he will scarce be able to look at them."

Elenwen began to fumble at her papers until she produced a large map of Cyrodiil. She shoved everything else aside, and placed it on the desk so that Yeerlin could see it well enough. It was colored black and white on simple parchment, yet some of the cities were labeled with symbols.

"We also have other problems though; the Dragonborn has already begun his rebellion." Elenwen pointed to Bruma, which had the symbol of a dragon above. "Bruma has declared as is expected, but I have also heard news that Chorrol is also considering joining his side."

"This is good, now the land will begin to fight each other. Isn't that what we want?" Yeerlin asked.

"Yes, but we also want _Althalos _to win. Either that or they both kill each other. If Valor gets the throne, it would be bad for all of us."

"The Empire would be weakened, it would be simple to swoop in and take over." Yeerlin pointed out.

"But if Valor does win and he ascends, then the Empire would have what they want. A Dragonborn Emperor would only raise their spirits and make them fight harder than ever before. Not only that, but the power a Dragonborn wields would not be easy to go against."

"We have extra help though, remember?" Yeerlin smirked.

"Aye that we do. And that slimy kraken better make sure he holds up his end of the bargain. His help was not necessary; I don't understand why Allalian sought him out."

"Perhaps he doesn't have faith in the Dominion's chance of victory." Yeerlin replied.

"You are talking about the same person, right? Allalian has the utter most confidence, I assure you. He would face the Dragonborn head on if he could defeat him, but we all know he couldn't. Valor has the ability to access powers we could never understand."

"We couldn't understand, but _he _can…" Yeerlin said.

"I am sure he can, but we must not put our faith in _him. _He and Hermaeus Mora both are strange, and I don't feel comfortable even speaking of him. It's a good thing Allalian has to deal with him; I'll have no part of that."

Elenwen sat back down in her chair. She looked exhausted, as if she had not rested for days. Yeerlin could believe that, as the woman had spent all of her time focusing on the war that was coming, and not her own personal health. Yeerlin felt bad for her.

"Man thinks of us as odd, evil creatures. But they do not remember what they did to us, but they will soon. We were once a proud people, but that fool Tiber Septim took that away from us."

"That he did." Yeerlin agreed, "And now his worship is outlawed."

"He slaughtered our people, took the land that _we _built from us. Tamriel was ours; _we _built the White-Gold tower. _We _were the first to put ink to parchment, to create art, to form a civilized government. It was our land, and he took it from us."

"A scoundrel, but his influence is fading." Yeerlin responded.

"Is it really?" Elenwen asked, "You know the truth, Yeerlin; none of these barbarians in Skyrim ever stopped worshipping their false idol of a god. You see their hidden shrines, the necklaces they prance around in but hide when the Justiciars come around. I try what I can, but it's just not working."

"Your efforts are appreciated, without you these humans would be running rampant in this crazed province. I remember when they use to worship goats." Yeerlin pointed out.

"I wan't nothing more than to claim _vengeance _for my ancestors. Our people are the most intelligent, the greatest of all man and mer and beast alike. But when Tiber Septim came and took what was dearest to us, our _pride, _we began to doubt if we were really as supreme as we thought.

"It is for those reasons that I believe that the Aldmeri Dominion is the only hope for our people, Yeerlin. I can feel pride again, knowing that Allalian and the people of Alinor will claim revenge and take what is ours. Do you not feel the same way?"

"With all my heart I wish to see the glory of the Altmer restored." Yeerlin said the words, and they were true. His kind was considered blight on this world by anyone but themselves. The men hated them, the beasts aside from the Khajit hated them, and the fellow Mer only tolerated them.

"Then we share a common goal. I want to do what is right, but I have no idea what to do next. Solitude holds its decision as to who will be Jarl in a few weeks, and it looks like Falk Firebeard will be selected. My plans will be ruined."

"Then dispose of Falk Firebeard as you did Elisif."

"We can't go on a random killing spree. It will become apparent after a long while as to who the culprit is. It must be done in others ways, and I had hoped that Erikur's claimed _expertise _on the subject would help, but it hasn't. He's as big a buffoon as the rest of these Nords."

Yeerlin was not sure what to say about that. He knew little of what was going on in Solitude, and even Skyrim for that matter. He longed to return to Alinor, his home. To be among his people, under their government, in their land. Not in this wretched cold abyss of darkness and chaos.

"Falk must be dealt with…what do I do?" Elenwen asked.

It took a long while to think of an answer. "Perhaps you could…dishonor him?"

"Dishonor? What do you mean?" Elenwen seemed confused.

"Ruin his reputation somehow, frame him for something. Spread rumors, find _mysterious _messages that were supposedly in his dressers. Anything to make the people hate him."

"You may be on to something my friend…" Elenwen said.

**New chapter! yay! anyways, its not much at all, but I wanted to write something. I hope it was decent, and that you enjoyed it.**

**Don't forget to tell me who your favorite NEW POV is, or how the new ones compare to the old. **

**REVIEW!**


	20. Valor V

Valor

The men that would soon follow him in battle came quicker than he imagined.

Lord Withertooth had told him to expect at least a few weeks before a response, and a few more (assuming they said yes) to ride to God's Eye. But it had not even been half a week when the first leaders of Bruma were piling around the fortresses gates.

As for the people of Bruma, most looked to be of Valor's people, citizens of Skyrim. They were most definitely Nordic from the looks of it, with their large bodies and light skin. The golden hair was just another proof of the matter. But there were Imperials as well, who were mostly the guards of the city that had gone along with the Count.

He was a large fellow, the Count of Bruma. A Nord by heart, Valor was almost surprised when he did not come with a bottle of ale in one hand and a war-axe in the other. He was clad in what looked like bear skin armor, and reminded Valor greatly of Galmar Stone-Fist. The man's arms were thicker than both of Valor's stacked together. He had a medium sized beard, which matched his blonde hair. When he stumbled in the hall along with twenty or so of his own guard, Valor was surprised he was the Count.

"Show me him!" the man shouted, "Show me the Dragonborn! I hear he's got the head of a dragon!"

"He has no dragon's head, but he does have their soul." Lord Destrian welcomed his guest, "It is good to see you have arrived, Count Olvir."

"Rode as fast as my horse would allow me, couldn't waste an opportunity to see the Dragonborn." Olvir said, "Now take me to him, I want to see him!"

"He is right here." Lord Destrian pointed to Valor, who stood right next to him in the main hall.

The face Count Olvir made reeked disappointment. "Him? this is…the Dragonborn of legend?" he paused, and then a great smile flooded his face, and he began to laugh. "This was a good one, my lord Withertooth. What a jape! Now tell me…where is the real Dragonborn?"

"I do not jape." Lord Destrian said, "By all the honor I possess, this is the true Dragonborn."

"He's no older than a child, probably still drinks from his mother's breast." Olvir said, "A Dragonborn! I truly hope your joking around, or else I am afraid the gods have abandoned us."

"You have yet to see his potential, I am sure he will not let you down." Destrian said.

"Hope not." The Count began, "If he's to be my Emperor soon, he better have some potential."

Valor remembered none of the conversation after that. He was too focused on what was important. Count Olvir had brought all of his men, which would be around a few thousand seasoned Nordic warriors. Valor hoped they knew discipline enough to fight against the Imperial Legion; else they would be in for some trouble down the road.

Count Olvir did not hesitate to deplete Lord Destrian's mead supply though. The man would often be seen holding a tankard or a bottle of ale, and was drunk most of the time. _At least he's good to be around when he's drunk. _Valor thought, he knew way too many people who got very dangerous when the alcohol had overtaken them.

Days came and went, and still Valor and Destrian waited for responses from the other Counts of Cyrodiil. Valor was new to this land, despite the amount of time he had stayed here after he was named Titus' heir. Destrian understood this land better than he most likely ever would, that much was for certain.

"They will respond." He continued to tell him when Valor asked. "Just wait, be patient."

So that was what he did, be patient. He waited for days, and days, and yet no response came from the other cities. Count Olvir had been good enough company though, as the man would always have the people around him laughing. But Valor had little interest in being around the drunk lately. His Blades escorted back to his private chambers, and when he opened the door, Delphine and the rest waited there while he went about his business.

Serana would often be waiting for him. Ever since Valor had arrived at the fortress, Lord Destrian had taken up most of his time.

"Any news?" she asked.

"Aside from how many tankards Olvir drank today, none." Valor said, slightly moping as he fell on the straw bed.

"They'll come…" Serana said.

"Hope so." He was lying down on the bed now, staring at the ceiling. "If they don't come, we will be low on men."

Serana laid down right next to him. "Wars have been won with fewer soldiers."

"Really? Which ones?" Valor asked, a playful look on his face.

"Well…there was that one…" Serana began, "Well, you got me…but it can still be done."

"Can it really?" Valor asked, doubt in his voice. "Seems very unlikely."

Serana paused, "Just wait, more will come, I'm sure of it. Just be patient."

And so he was patient, just like Lord Withertooth had told him to be. The Dragonborn was tired of waiting though; he wanted to go out there, to march with the men while the banners twirled with the wind. He wanted to make sure Tamriel would not be guided by a terrible Emperor.

It was twelve days later when the men from Chorrol arrived without warning.

"See, patience is the only thing that keeps a man sane. If we had rushed with the men we had, Chorrol would not be with us right now, they would be wondering where we went." Lord Destrian had said that day, and Valor agreed.

The Count of Chorrol brought with him eight thousand men. Although most were just mainly militiamen, and not trained soldiers, they were better than nothing. Count Olvir was full of joy at the thought of more people showing up, as he had not hesitated to express his deep boredom.

The Count of Chorrol was a smaller man then Count Olvir. He was a noble looking Imperial, whose clothes resembled that of a man of high status. Around twenty guards had accompanied him to the hall, each bearing long spears.

"Lord Destrian, I answered your call."

"You should have sent a courier first, I was not expecting you." Lord Withertooth replied.

"You must forgive me my lord; I rode as soon as my court-wizard presented me with the news. I did not waste time sending a courier when he would arrive not much quicker than I would."

His gaze traveled from Destrian to the Dragonborn. He did not share the same baffled look that Count Olvir had, instead he looked pleased. "This must be the Dragonborn." He said, "He has the look, what is your name, boy?"

_Boy…_ Valor thought, "Valor." he replied.

"A grand name. I had hoped as much. The men will be chanting it soon enough, didn't want them to be shouting a name that sounded odd."

"What is your name, my lord?" Valor asked.

"Amundel, Count of Chorrol." The man showed courtesy, "I hope my men will please you, Dragonborn. They are not the Nordic warriors that Count Olvir had brought you; these soldiers fight the Imperial way."

_Those are the men we need. _Valor thought. Count Olvir and his men were no doubt great warriors, but how good soldiers they would make was a different question. An army should function like a machine, not a group of crazed barbarians fighting for glory and honor. _Not like the Stormcloaks._

They waited for a few more days, and Lord Withertooth came to the conclusion that no more would come. "We have enough to serve, after we start winning battles the other cities will flock to us." Valor hoped those words were true, as with only around ten-thousand men, the Legion might quickly overwhelm them.

A large feast was prepared for the Counts, the respectable nobles that had come as well, and the important soldiers and higher ranked officials. The tables were set up in the main hall, stacked with roasted chicken, salted pork, grilled leeks and any other vegetable imaginable, and many other foods for the first course. Count Olvir was already deep in his cups of mead when Valor joined in. Serana was next to him. Lord Destrian had asked him to leave her in her room, but Valor insisted.

"I can't wait to cut up some of those Legionnaires." Olvir began, the tankard of mead in his hand. "Anybody who would deny the Dragonborn the throne is a fool and deserves to die a fool's death!"

"Battle will come my friend, but do not be too hasty to deal death." Destrian replied.

"Your wise, Lord Withertooth, but I don't share your philosophy." Olvir said, "This boy here is probably waiting to wear that crown, and I mean to give it to him, no matter if it takes cutting up twenty soldiers to do it!"

"I'll join you." Rowan said from the other side of the table.

"Please do, I could use the help!" Olvir was clearly drunk, "I remember when you fought in the battle of the Imperial city, cut down thirty elves before the Legion retreated!"

"Aye, a moment I will never forget." Rowan replied.

Then Olvir turned to the Count of Chorrol, who was quietly eating a sweet roll. "How bout you, Amundel? Got any war stories or accomplishments to tell?"

"None, aside from being a rich man who rules over an entire city."

Then, the large Nord turned to the Dragonborn. "Well then, you got any great accomplishments to share, boy? Aside from being the Dragonborn?"

Valor heard Serana snicker, and he tried his best to ignore it. What would he tell them? Half of what he had done none of them would believe. _That I slayed a crazed vampire who was going to blot out the sun? That I prevented the first Dragonborn from returning to the world? That I defeated the leader of the Dragon priests? That I ended the terror of the World-Eater?_

"I killed Ulfric Stormcloak." He said.

Everyone else was silent at that table, but the grin that was on Count Olvir's face almost made Valor smile. "That was you?" he asked, "I heard that general was the one who did it."

"General Tullius?" Valor asked, "No…I killed him."

"Tell us what happened, boy." This time it was Lord Destrian that was talking from the other side of the long table.

While the dozens of other people in the feast were shouting, singing, and being merry, Valor and his table were dead silent. He didn't know what to say. It had always been a moment he had dreaded, and did not want to relive it. _They have a right to know, as does Serana. _

"Well…it was during the battle at Windhelm. I was with General Tullius and Rikke, who was at that moment a Legate. We stormed inside the city, and a battle took place between the Legion and the last of the Stormcloaks.

"I fought, as I was supposed to do, when I saw one of the soldiers staring at me. It was a woman, and not mistaking her for a regular Stormcloak, I ran as fast as I could. And when I bore my sword straight into her heart, I heard a familiar voice." Valor paused for a moment, while the whole table's eyes were on him. He turned to Serana, who was also waiting for what happened next.

"Shocked, I took off her helmet and…it was the woman that I was…_affiliated _with for quite a long time…" the eyes of the men of the table signaled for him to continue.

"She had left me for…unknown reasons. And I was so upset and sad after I realized what I had done, that I took out my anger on the Stormcloak leader when the time came. After I knocked him down I stuck my sword straight into his throat."

Nobody said anything at first. Valor's eyes flashed to Serana, who looked exactly like she did before. _It doesn't bother her that I killed the last woman I was involved with? _True, he didn't realize it was her at the time, but he still did the action. He had killed Alianor without a seconds thought.

"And I bet they don't make songs about Ulfric Stormcloak anymore!" Olvir shouted, "A great tale, and one you will tell again soon enough. The other Counts will like to hear about how the Dragonborn brought justice to Skyrim, and will do the same with the Empire."

"That Ulfric fellow was always a barbarian, all I say is 'good riddance', and we have no need for people like that in this Empire." Count Amundel said.

"Aye, they are right." Lord Destrian agreed, "That is a credential that should be kept with honor. You saved thousands of lives that would have been ended should the Skyrim civil war continue."

_Justice…is that what it's called? _He had saved the lives of thousands, with the expense of the one life he had loved. _No…she left me…she never loved me…_he fought back the memories and focused on the feast…only the feast.

"So, when do we march?" Olvir asked Destrian.

"The day after tomorrow, so that my men can prepare and get the supplies ready. I assume your men are doing the same?"

"The men of Bruma have been ready, we will march when ordered." Olvir said.

"Don't tell that to me." Lord Destrian pointed to the Dragonborn, "Tell that to him. He is your Emperor, your leader. I am just like you, his servant now."

"The Dragonborn Emperor. Talos reincarnated, the new Tiber Septim. Destined to retake the throne and bring us a new line of Emperors." Olvir looked to Serana, "That is if our lady is ready."

Serana didn't respond. Valor didn't say anything; she had always been uncomfortable with the subject unless Valor was just joking around. _Guess when you're raped by a Daedric Prince, you don't want to have sex for long time. _Valor had been okay with it though, he would not force anything on her. _It would have to happen eventually though, if I become Emperor._

"Ready or not, when our Dragonborn takes the throne, you will have a large duty ahead of you, my lady." Olvir said, "Bearing children is no easy business. Bloodier than swords and steel both, if you think about it."

Serana looked very uncomfortable.

"Perhaps we should leave lady Serana to herself, Count Olvir. I am sure that thought has been on her mind enough now."

"Forgive me, I did not mean to make you feel odd, my lady." Olvir apologized.

Several more courses came and went, and Valor had eaten so much food his stomach felt as if it was going to explode. The men sang and danced to the singers, who played, "A Nightingale's song.", "Season Unending." And "The Dragon and the Bear." Valor felt like dancing himself, as the singer's voice was almost magical. Yet he did not have the energy.

Count Olvir was dancing with Rowan, each having a tankard of mead in their hands. The whole hall was reciting the words to "Season's Unending." While the two shouted the verses at the top of their lungs.

_"Jon! Jon! Jon! Where did you go? Jon! Oh Jon! Why did you have to die? The faithful lord of Windhelm! May your house not suffer the same fate. For death is nigh!" _

Valor was having a great time, he enjoyed being around these merry people. They boosted his spirits, and not once did Valor think about the fact that these people would soon be following him into battle.

Serana did not look so happy however; instead she looked very out of place. She got up from her chair while muttering to herself, and gave Valor one look before walking off. The Dragonborn rose from his chair to follow her, shouting her name, "Serana! Where are you going?"

"Back to the room." It was a wonder that he could hear her whisper, and she opened the door and went inside, without another word.

**I made another chapter! I hope you all enjoyed it, for I fairly enjoyed writing this one.**

**What did you think of the chapter? what do you think of the Counts who have sided with the Dragonborn? **

**REVIEW!**


	21. Lord Withertooth

Lord Withertooth

When the feast had ended, the soldiers had returned to their respected quarters. That was except for Count Olvir, who decided that he wasn't drunk enough to retire this early at night. Destrian had gone through enough though, the Dragonborn would have his rest, and he desired it as well.

He followed the path he was too familiar with, finding himself face to face with a long staircase which ended with his own room. The singers kept on for Olvir's sake, and a few of the hall guards had decided that it was their turn to join in the merry. "Season's Unending." Had just ended, now the bards played "A Tale of Tongues" in honor of the Dragonborn.

_He will not be there to hear it though. _Valor had gone to his room along with Serana after she had left the feast early. Why, Destrian would never know, but it was no business of his. In his honest opinion, the woman was only a distraction. Valor needed to keep his thoughts and attention on the war that was coming, something he had not been doing often.

_We asked him for his greatest accomplishment, and instead he tells us about how he killed some woman. _He had ruined his chance to gain respect with the Counts and Legates. Now the only chance they would truly respect him was to prove his worth in battle. If not then they would never truly believe in him, and would not follow him faithfully. _Not like Althalos…his men practically worship him. Let us hope that is the only thing he and Valor will have in common. _

As he went up the stairs, the sounds of the singer's voices were fading away. But even when he was safely inside his room, he could still hear Olvir shouting out the words along with a few soldiers. Lord Destrian chuckled, taking a few steps to his bed, and falling down instantly. Hopefully he would dream well.

The next morning he woke, thankfully his head did not pain him. He had made an effort not to drink during the feast. For s second he thought he could hear Olvir still singing, but as he rose he realized that he was imagining things.

He got up quickly, as being a lord required him to get up early and deal with everything that was required. No doubt the few soldiers he had would need his assistance in some way, and the Counts would surely require something of him.

As he descended down the stairs, he could hear voices from the great hall. He could tell he had awakened earlier than normal, as it was surprisingly quiet outside. Usually the main hall would be teeming with conversation from the guards and such that would small talk amongst themselves. Before Destrian woke was a time when they could say whatever they wanted without fear of persecution or punishment.

"Did you now, lad?" a Nordic voice said, obviously Olvir. "I can see it now, the World-Eater himself. How did you do it?"

"Well first," a younger voice answered. "I made sure to use my bow. Swords are no use against dragons unless you're up close, and Alduin was not. I sent two arrows to the sky before one actually hit, and it was in the wing."

"Hah! A marksman! What happened next?" Olvir asked.

"Alduin roared in pain, and I used the Dragonrend shout to bring him to the ground for good. It was then that I could use my blade, rushing forward faster than I ever had before. He was a tough opponent though; his teeth were sharp and his wings large and threatening. He knocked me back, one of the horns on his head stabbing me in the side."

"A battle wound is always a good thing. Proves you fought a true opponent, not a screaming whelp."

"I still have the scar." Destrian was sure it was Valor. "Anyways, I couldn't get up. But Feldir and the others managed to distract him long enough to give me some time. I struggled, and it was an excruciating pain, but I got on my feet. Then, Alduin stretched out his neck and snatched up Gormlaith, his jaws snapping shut. Only the Gods know where her soul is now."

"Alduin is a treacherous demon, not a god. It pains me to know my ancestors use to hold him to Divinity." Olvir replied.

Destrian was almost at the base of the staircase. "I sprinted forth, my blade in the air. Alduin was focused on Hakon, so I had the advantage. I leapt off the stone boulder and jumped so high in the air I would have broken my legs should I have fallen wrong. I landed on his neck, and Alduin began to thrash around. I brought my sword up, and bore it right through. His head jerked upwards as he let out a terrible shriek that I still remember."

"And it was done?" Olvir asked.

Destrian could see them now, and did not realize at first that Valor's Blades were there as well. "Aye, just like that. With one blow my destiny was fulfilled."

Destrian interrupted, "I see you two have woken early."

"Our Emperor saw fit to regale on how he defeated the World-Eater to me. It was a marvelous tale, you want to hear it? Go on lad; tell Lord Destrian how you conquered over the Nordic God of destruction!"

Destrian shook his head, "I heard it while I descended down the stairs. A true triumph, if I may say so my Emperor." Then Destrian looked to the Count, "And he is not a lad, he is the rightful Emperor by all the laws of men and divines."

"Valor knows I meant him no disrespect." Olvir said.

"It is fine; he didn't mean anything by it." Valor explained, "I'd rather have him call me lad, to be honest."

_He doesn't want to be Emperor. _Destrian had suspicions, but he had hoped that was not the case. If he did not want to be Emperor, then why should his men want that either?

"If you would excuse me, my Emperor; I have business to attend to." Lord Withertooth said.

"Like what?" Valor asked.

"I must see to it that the men are close to ready. And since Count Olvir assures me his men are indeed waiting on the edge for battle, I only have two armies to keep track of."

"I will go with you." Valor told him.

"There is no need to trouble yourself, Emperor. This is a duty befit only for your subjects; you should not need to bother yourself."

The Dragonborn made a frown, "I am going. What harm will come from me meeting my soldiers?"

"None at all." Destrian replied. The boy was right, it would be better if he knew his men, or at least saw them. Destrian knew what it felt like to fight for someone who you never saw. _I only saw Titus once, and that was at the battle for the Imperial City. _

"Follow me then, my Emperor." Lord Withertooth said.

The Dragonborn followed in silence, with Count Olvir following from the rear, and the Blades as well. He had not stated that he wanted to come, but the brutish Nord had accompanied them all the same. Destrian was surprised to see that he did not have a tankard in his hand. _Perhaps he has grown tired of drinking._

When the guards opened the gates for them, they were already walking down the stairs. The sun had not completely risen yet, as it was still hanging close to the edge of the visible world. He could still see the moon, although one might have to squint to notice it.

"How many men do we have, again?" Valor asked.

"Around ten-thousand, my Emperor." Destrian replied.

"Full of the leanest bunch of Nords you ever seen." Olvir commented.

"Ten-thousand is a good start, but will it be enough?" Valor asked.

"Under the right care, ten-thousand men could bring down an entire nation." Destrian replied.

"Ulfric Stormcloak had fifteen-thousand men, yet the Legion ended that rebellion pretty quickly." Valor responded.

"The Stormcloaks did not have the Dragonborn." Olvir said from behind.

_And that is the truth of it. _If Valor had not joined the war, it was likely that Ulfric Stormcloak would have overcome General Tullius and his men. The Empire owed its thanks to the Dragonborn for securing the province where its strongest fighters came from. _Valor may have just saved the Empire, yet that's what we are now fighting against. _

After a while they were at the base of the stairs and the lowest level of the fortress. The few people who stayed there for odd reasons gave their Lord respectful looks. Destrian nodded and waved. The only ones who had come with him to live in God's Eye were peasants or people too poor to live in the cities. They didn't truly know him, he even wondered if they knew his name.

After a long while of walking they were faced with the gates that lead outside. The guards opened it for them, so Lord Destrian did not have to exert much energy. Valor gave them thanks, and Olvir said nothing.

Outside, on the slightly hilly terrain, were maybe hundreds if not thousands of tents. Smoke rose from fires that were no doubt used to cook or to boil water to wash clothes. It was much louder out there than inside, and men were doing something at every corner. A few healers strutted with potions and ingredients in hand, the camp's blacksmiths were at work forging blades and armor, and the soldiers were gathering the supplies needed to march soon. When they walked further and further, many noticed them.

"My Emperor!" some called out, making a quick bow to the Dragonborn before they went back on their way. Others did not do that, instead they stared. Olvir's men looked astonished, staring at Valor with either joy or disappointment. "Dragonborn!" some called out, while others were silent.

"The Legate's should be this way." Destrian said, pointing towards the middle of the camp. "This tent should be it."

When they stepped inside the command tent, the Count of Chorrol was sprawled over the map, as if he was studying it. Three or so Legates were around him. _Do they realize they are fighting the very Empire they swore to protect? _Destrian had a feeling they knew, they just would not admit it to themselves.

"My Lord, and…My Emperor." Amundel bowed. "I was not expecting your presence, Dragonborn."

"And why would that be?" Valor asked, seemingly slightly angered.

"No…no reason, I was just only expecting Lord Withertooth. Not that it matters, I see you brought the Count of Bruma as well, and your guards."

"Didn't think I would miss out on planning on how to stomp Althalos, do you?" the Nord replied.

"Wherever our Emperor goes, we follow." Delphine added from the back, a hood still on her face.

"Well you came just in time, we were about to discuss battle plans." Amundel said, "I was waiting for you to arrive so we may begin, Lord Destrian."

Count Amundel returned to his map, the Legates remaining silent for the most part. Valor took the initiative of stepping forward, his hands resting on the wooden table. Destrian did so as well, his eyes roaming on all the marks that had been put on the cities.

"We have ten-thousand, the Legates have counted. Our host is not terribly large, so we should be able to navigate through the mountains of northern Cyrodiil well. Once we are out, we can head for the Imperial City quickly."

"Good." Destrian said. "I am assuming your men are ready, then?"

"Of course." Amundel answered, "They are ready to follow the Dragonborn into battle as soon as possible."

"That is good." Valor said, "We should leave soon though, if we delay too long, word might reach-!" the Dragonborn was interrupted by the sound of someone rushing inside the tent. Destrian turned to see a middle-aged soldier, who had a small pack on his back.

""I ran as fast as I could…but I had to come…had to warn you…" he said.

Valor walked forward, "Breath slower." Valor commanded, and the man heeded the advice. "That's better, now, what is it?"

"Legionnaires…thousands. Saw them coming up the mountains not five miles from here."

"Let us not jump to conclusions, perhaps it was one of the Counts-!" Destrian began, but was interrupted.

"They weren't no Counts, my lord." The man said, "They bore the Imperial Legion banner, and from the direction they came, it looked to be from the Imperial City. I think Lord Althalos sent them."

"They say the Mede banner has a black dragon on it. He acts as brazen as one that's for sure."

"We should go back inside the fortress, the walls will protect us." Lord Withertooth said.

"No." Valor said.

"No?" Destrian said, slight anger and annoyance overtaking him. "No doubt he outnumbers us two to one; the fortress is the best thing. Shed the boy and be a man! Think wisely."

"I am thinking wisely, my lord." Valor said, "And I do believe I make the commands now." He turned to the man, "You did well, go and get a drink in the fortress, you have earned it."

"Think carefully boy, this may sound odd coming from me, but don't do anything _too _rash." Olvir brought up.

"The _Emperor _has made the first move. I mean to answer, and cowering behind walls is not the way to do it." He turned to Lord Destrian, who had a worried look on his face. "What is wrong, my lord? They told me you fought in the Great War, yet you look scared as a little boy who saw a ghost. I am not a fool, nor am I a boy as everyone thinks. An Emperor must prove his right to rule, no? I will answer our enemy with steel. With blood…with dragonfire."

**Decided to update. thought writing a new chapter would be productive, now have to go study for AP Human Geography test...yayz...**

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	22. Delphine II

Delphine

When the Dragonborn had ordered her and his Blades to go with the men, Delphine was in no authority to refuse.

Ahzam and Kathil had never fought in a war before. The largest battle they had taken place in was when Sky Haven Temple had fallen in the Draugr war. Esbern on the other hand had been in too many wars. _This is all too familiar to him._

_ This is madness; we should be behind the walls, not out here. _God's Eye was a fortress, and was meant to be manned for battle. Valor had shown his inexperience with this new decision. _It will be a bloody battle, and whoever wins will have few men left standing. Valor has shot himself in the foot._

The Nordic warriors of Bruma were fearsome, that was for sure. The Count himself was in the front lines, a tankard of mead in his hands. Delphine almost laughed, but she remembered what was coming. _Let us hope Althalos is not coming himself. _When that day comes, the rebellion would be in for a tough fight.

War-horns taunted the rebellion. The sound the dozens of horns made caused Delphine to shudder. The men were not stirred though, they stood tall and still. Those who were regular citizens who were thrust into suit and armor were practically shivering. Not of the cold, but of fear.

The horns sounded again, and again, and again. Still, Delphine looked on. Ten-thousand soldiers did so as well, their eyes focused on where the mountains parted and a wide open area where an army could pass through. Delphine looked for her Emperor, for Valor, yet she could find him nowhere. _He said he would come…what kind of Emperor doesn't fight with his soldiers?_

"Come on now, hurry up!" Count Olvir shouted, "My axe is waiting to shed some blood!"

"There will be blood." Delphine looked to his direction, though with her hood on he should not have been able to see her face.

"Hope so my lady, elsewise I'd be very disappointed." Olvir responded.

With one last blow the horns sounded, and forth came a host from a passage through the mountains. At first it looked to only be a few hundred, but as more came from around the corner, the size grew and grew. Delphine could hear Esbern sigh from behind, and the two Redguard boys whimper. _They will learn to embrace it. At least this war is necessary._

"Where is the Dragonborn?" one of the soldiers asked, "Where is our Emperor?"

"He will come soon, he is preparing." Count Olvir told them.

_Preparing for what? _Why had Valor not gone out to join his troops? It was very unlike him. He was usually in the front lines when the people needed him, ready to fight for what he believed in. S_omething is wrong…he should be here._

The enemy stopped several miles away from the rebels. Delphine did not see Althalos Mede anywhere, and let out a sigh of relief. If he had indeed come, and the man who had warned them was wrong, then this battle would have been very different.

_He thinks we are not a threat. _If Althalos truly believed that the Dragonborn was a real enemy to be feared, then he would have no doubt come himself. _After today he will know…we are no easy prey._

"Sound your horns! Show them that we can make noise too!" Olvir commanded.

His men answered the call, with at least a dozen men holding up war-horns made of wood. The sound that came from them almost made Delphine feel calm. They blended perfectly together, as if it was like a song. Suddenly the words to "Season's Unending." Came to her head, and she remembered Olvir shouting the verses.

"For the Empire!" she heard one man call out, then the rest of the enemy host took up the battle-cry, rushing forward. The vibration the thousands of footsteps made could be felt in the ground, impossible as it seemed. Delphine drew her blade, yet Olvir's Nords and the Imperial soldiers had already taken out their bows and put arrow to string,

"Let's show these bastards what true soldiers look like!" Olvir shouted, "Fire!"

Several other Legates repeated the command, and with the twang of thousands of bows a flurry of arrows were sent to the sky. Streaking far above Delphine's head and coursing through the air, with a soft whistle to accompany them. While some of the Legionnaires were smart enough to raise their shields, others were less fortunate. Arrows pierced men in the neck, the arm, and the leg. _Legionnaire armor isn't that protective. _Delphine concluded.

"Ready. Aim. Fire!" Olvir said once again, and the men followed orders. Delphine sucked in a light breath when she heard the sound the bowstrings made when pulled back. She exhaled slowly, her eyes tracing the arrows when loosed. She saw the enemy soldiers fall to the ground, never rising back up.

The command was sounded several more times, "Ready. Aim Fire!" it was three more volleys before the enemy hose had advanced close enough for arrows to have no further advantage. "Ready weapons!" Olvir shouted, "For the Dragonborn! For Tamriel!"

When steel left scabbard, a ring went through Delphine's ears. She could still see the men who were not only thirty feet away approaching, yet her mind wondered. What if she did not survive this battle? What if she met her end? She would have failed the Dragonborn if that were the case, the only reason she had left for living. _No, I need to do this one last thing. Valor must be Emperor._

Steel clashed steel and the two forces collided not terribly far away from the gates of the fortress. The ground crunched beneath thousands of steel boots, along with the clangor of metal scrapping against armor. Delphine's hood had been hacked off her head by an incoming blade, leaving her face and neck exposed. It was fine though, she preferred to be lighter in a fight. Armor slowed you down, she did not need a helmet.

A spearhead grazed against her chest plate, causing her to leap back as far as she could in response. Delphine accidentally knocked into someone behind her, not allowing her to appropriately respond to the soldier whose spear came darting towards her. She ducked, her blade grasped firmly in her hand. Her enemy let out a loud shout, his spear curving downwards to hit Delphine in the back. But he had not found a gap in her armor, so his spear ended up only scraping down her armor, and she was unscathed.

She replied back with her own steel. Rising with a slash upwards that coursed right over the men's face. He let out a scream in pain, dropping his spear in the process. Delphine took no longer than a moment to pick it up and drive it right into the man's throat. _Killed by his own weapon. _A speck of blood dotted her face, but she paid it no mind.

It was havoc around her, with the sound of screams, taunts, shouts, and cries all mingling together along with the sound of war. It was like hell, except far worse. Whatever the Divines had prepared for the unworthy could not have been worse than this. She saw one of the Legionnaires open a Nord's throat from one end to the other, laughing while he did it. She saw another fall down, a dagger stuck through his leather armor, and into his abdomen.

_Where is Valor…where is he? _He should be here, to encourage the men, to lift their spirits. It was his idea to meet them in the field, when they had a perfectly defensible fortress not even a mile behind them. _This will turn out badly, I'm sure of it._

She was knocked out of her thoughts when a blade just barely swung away from her head. She turned to the left instantly, bringing her own sword up for safety measures. The soldier sent another blow for her head, his sword coming down in one powerful strike. But Delphine parried the blow, the recoil light enough for her to retaliate quickly. She ducked down and sent one cut for his legs, and he responded by falling to his knees, his hands clutching them. She had no mercy for the man, and rammed her blade right into his chest.

"Ha! Come on you fools! I thought Legionnaires fought better than this!" Count Olvir was shouting, while he swung his war axe to and fro. Men came and challenged him, but the Nord's brute strength either sent heads flying or brought men to the ground, never rising. Delphine would have watched more, but she heard Esbern come right next to her.

"The Dragonborn sure is late." He told her, sending fireballs to the air with his arcane powers.

"Wherever he is, he better hurry up. The battle isn't looking so good." Delphine told Esbern

She was right. Although they had not lost that many numbers, the rebel host was being pushed back very slowly towards the fortress. And from above one could tell that the legion now outnumbered them. If this kept up, they would have to retreat back to God's Eye soon.

"To your right!" Esbern shouted, and Delphine turned her head. The axe that had swung towards her lightly cut her cheek, sending a small jolt of pain through her. Delphine backed up, ready to strike, but Esbern had already loosed his arcane fire. The soldier began to scream as flames consumed his face, melting his skin. Delphine almost thought she heard him laughing as well.

"Thanks." Delphine replied, although her voice was mostly drowned with the sound of war.

"No problem. Just like old times, eh?" Esbern asked her.

"Aye, except these guys aren't elves." Delphine reminded him.

"No…the elves fought better." Esbern said before he sent three quick strikes with his dagger at a soldier who had dared to provoke him. Delphine was amazed that such an old man had such agility.

It was then that Delphine felt something stab her from behind, going right through her leg. She let out a scream, falling to the ground while reaching her hand to her calf. When she felt a spear, she tried to pull it out, but someone had done it for her. Delphine turned after she fell to see a Legionnaire laughing in front of her.

But it was the Redguard boy Ahzam who came to save her. He was behind the man, and his sword flashed forward to ram right into his back, going through the Imperial armor. Delphine chuckled in delight, as she had been able to live another day.

"Delphine, take my hand." Ahzam said, in order to help her up.

"No…I can't, my leg…" Delphine replied.

It was then that she heard a whisper in the wind, as if someone had called names in another tongue. She kept her eyes on her leg though, and the hand that was outstretched to help her. She lowered her hand and felt the blood that was gushing out from her leg, causing her head to ache. She could feel Ahzam grab her hand, trying to get her up, but Delphine wouldn't. All she remembered was the shadow that overcame her, like two large wings outstretched, and the roar of dragons.

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**Battle wasn't very long, i know. But its not over yet, and i hope it was at least decent to read about.**

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	23. Valor VI

Valor

The world looked so much different from the skies.

When Paarthurnax took to the air, with Valor on his back, the Dragonborn felt at home. _This is my true home, I am a dragon. I belong in the skies. _He had the soul of a dragon, but he could not fly. Instead he had dragons to do that for him.

He had called the four dragons who would serve him not long before that. Odahviing, who had led him to Skuldafn. Durhnevir, who Valor had summoned from the Soul Cairn. Paarthurnax, who had answered his call all the way from the throat of the world. And Sahsunaar, whose allegiance was swayed to Valor before the battle of Labyrinthian. Each arrived a few moments later, their wings creating shadows upon the ground. They had perched upon some of the tallest buildings nearest to the Dragonborn.

"_Krosis, this is a large battle you have gotten yourself into, Dovahkiin." _Paarthurnax told him before his wings outstretched to take to the air.

"That is why I called you four." Valor told them, while the soldiers inside God's Eye had their eyes wide open in fear. Valor was not scared though, but he could tell Lord Destrian was.

"Calm yourself, my lord. They are just dragons." Valor smirked while atop Paarthurnax's neck. "They will not harm you…unless I commanded it."

_"Does this one trouble you, Dovahkiin?" _Odahviing asked, _"If so I will bathe him in fire." _the dragon's purple and red scales shone in the sun, the glare being reflected in Valor's eyes.

"No, leave him be." Valor said, grasping one of Paarthurnax's scales, _"Fly." _He said, and the old dragon did as he was commanded. After Alduin was destroyed, Valor was told that he was the true King of Dragons. These were his loyal subjects if that was true, and would obey his every whim.

"_Yes Dovahkiin." _Paarthurnax replied, and with one swoop the dragon's legs pushed off from atop the stone structure that had been built in front of the gate. The wind met Valor, blowing back his hair and almost making him fall off. But he held on with all the strength he had, until the dragon was truly in the skies. The other three dragons with them.

From down below, the battle looked odd. Not many men had been lost from the looks of it, but the rebellion forces had been pushed back, almost nearing the fortress. It had been Valor's idea to meet them in the field, instead of cowering behind stone walls. Yet he wondered if that was still the best idea.

_"_Bathe them in fire." Valor told them.

Durhnevir was the first to swoop downwards, followed by Sahsunaar, and then Odahviing. Paarthurnax was last, his wings allowing him to glide down to the surface.

When Valor looked down, he could see several great shadows covering the battlefield. Men looked up, shouting in fear or in joy. Valor could not tell which side said which, as it was mingled over the whole battlefield. The rebels began to shout though, "King of the Dragons!" they said, and Valor felt pride overtake him.

_Yes…let them feel dragonfire. _Valor thought, when Durhnevir had begun to unleash dragon flame on the enemy. Legionnaires screamed, while other readied their bows to fire. The rebels took this opportunity to take their enemy unawares. And the Dragonborn Emperor could see them slaying any soldier who was not paying attention. Not long after the tide of the battle had turned just by Valor appearing with dragons.

Descending quicker now, Paarthurnax was now in appropriate range. He opened his maw just like he did when fighting Alduin at the throat of the world, and let out orange and red flame. Dragonfire overtook those who had been cursed to feel the power of dragons.

Arrows whistled past them, but with the speed that dragons flew, there was no considerable damage. Valor saw Sahsunaar hit in the tail with a steel arrow, but the dragon simply shook it off, answering with fire. Valor himself was almost hit, an arrows streaking right past his face.

Then Paarthurnax glided just over the soldier's heads, snatching up several soldiers, and taking them to the sky. Valor could hear their cries, "Please! I don't want to die!" but the old dragon had dropped them soon after, and Valor watched as they fell down in the sky, destined to hit the ground sooner or later.

He could hear steel clashing against steel, and the screams of those who faced death. Valor had gone through this too many times before. When the Skyrim Civil war had taken place, he had seen good men butchered by the thousands. And during the Draugr war he had seen soldiers who fought to defend their families being brutally cut down by the undead. _This is war…this is what I started._

_ "Yol!" _Paarthurnax let out more of his dragonfire, and more soldiers were consumed. The heat coursed over his whole body, and Valor welcomed the warmth. He wanted to fly with them, to spread his wings as well, until he realized he had none. _I am not a true dragon…_he thought to himself.

While they had done severe damage from the air, the battle below was looking far better than before. With the help of the dragons and the spirits of the soldiers being lifted, the tide had been turned and now they were pushing the Legion back. Valor thought he could see Count Olvir from the skies, drinking mead as he killed enemy soldiers. _I am imagining things. _

Sahsunaar swooped down from Valor's right, his wings sending a gust of air in Valor's direction. Odahviing followed, while Durhnevir continued to let loose fire and ice at his enemy. Valor tugged on one of Paarthurnax's scales and whispered, "_Down."_

_ "Yes Dovahkiin, I will land."_

From the air Paarthurnax stretched his legs forward, flapping his wings quickly in order to slow down his descent. Valor held on tight with one hand, while with the other he readied his firebolt spell. The Dragonborn would not have any use for his sword while on the back of a dragon.

When Paarthurnax had landed, Valor saw that they were right on the outskirts of the battle. Sahsunaar and Odahviing were behind the enemy, blocking them from escaping, while Durhnevir continued to wreak havoc from the skies. Valor let loose his fire spell, missing the first time but successful on the second.

_"A fine hit, Dovahkiin." _Paarthurnax said before he opened his jaws and let loose dragonfire.

The flames danced when they hit the ground, consuming grass and dirt with fire. Those who were unfortunate enough to be in the way were scorched, forced to bake in their own armor while their flesh burnt like a chicken in an oven.

For those who were foolish enough to try to challenge the dragons, most met a quick death by fire. Other managed to get closer, with one wrenching his spear right into Paarthurnax's foot. The old dragon let out a cry. But it was Durhnevir who suffered the most damage. While in the air the Legion's archers managed to hit him in the wing several times, forcing him to land.

Paarthurnax belted forth more fire, but it was not enough to take down the immense numbers that had charged towards him. The dragon compensated, turning in order to lash his tail forth. One man's body was cut in half by the sheer force, while others were knocked back with broken limbs. Those who were too scared to challenge the dragon instead fought against one of the rebel soldiers, and most likely lost in the sword fight.

It had gotten to the point where all Valor could hear was the sound of dragons. When he shut his eyes he could see their wings outstretched, the shadow they made when they flew overhead. Sometimes he would forget that he was one of them. No matter how much of a mortal he looked, he would always be a dragon. _These are my true people…dragons._

And it was done just like that. Some of the Imperial soldiers threw down their swords, but the majority of them sprinted the opposite way of the fortress. The rebels began to charge, but Valor shouted at the top of his lungs.

"No! let them run."

"But we can catch up to them and slay those who flee." One Nordic warrior said.

"Let them run. They can tell Lord Althalos what has happened here." The Dragonborn felt a smile creep upon his lips. He could not help but relish in his pride. He had claimed victory over his first battle of the coming war. _No, it's not coming…It has already come. _

As the enemy scurried away, Paarthurnax lifted his head and let out a ear aching roar. In all of his time with the scaled creatures, never had he heard a noise such as this. The old one then lowered his head once more, and the other three dragons landed close to them.

_"Dovahkiin, ronak grah; a fine battle it was." _Odahviing told them while his feet touched the ground. He had a few arrows on his back, but they were minor wounds.

"Do those arrows bother you? I will have them removed as soon as possible." Valor assured him.

_"It is nothing, only grah ahraan, a battle wound." _Odahviing replied, slight smoke coming from his mouth. "_A Dovah should have a battle wound; it shows that it was a fair fight."_

_ "But a fair fight it was not." _The green scaled dragon Durhnevir chimed in, _"These whelps could not hope to best my minions, and my fire was too strong for them."_

_ "No mortals could ever resist our Dovah yol, dragonfire." _Sahsunaar pointed out, _"I hope you will have a far more powerful enemy next time, Dovahkiin."_

"Let us hope not." Paarthurnax lowered his neck to the ground, and Valor took one step off before his feet touched the grass beneath. He could now see the dragons in all their might, as they were all standing right next to each other. Not only that, but he could hear thousands of men from behind as well.

"Let me through!" Valor could recognize the voice of Count Olvir anywhere. Valor turned to see the Nordic man approaching from the crowd of the rebel forces. His upper shoulder looked to may have been pierced by an arrow, but if that was true Valor was not sure.

When he saw the dragons, he stopped walking. "You are the craziest lad I have ever graced my eyes upon." Olvir said, "Flying on a dragon, you are one crazed boy."

Valor frowned.

"Crazed…but a brave crazy boy…one who I'd follow." The Nord belted out a loud laugh, his hand on the handle of his sheathed war-axe. "Riding dragons, who would have thought?"

Valor laughed with him, and took a few steps forward. The Nord pulled him instantly into a hug. Valor was a little shocked for a moment, but raised his arms to return that hug. Olvir was still laughing when Valor pulled back.

His eyes widened when he paid more attention to the four dragons who were staring at him. "I've never seen a dragon before, lad…good gods, they are huge."

_"What did he say?" _Sahsunaar asked.

_"Does he mock us?" _Durhnevir's voice echoed anger.

"He was saying that you are very large." Valor began, "Dragons are very big creatures, and he has never seen one before."

_"But he has seen you, Dovahkiin." _Paarthurnax brought up.

_That's true. _He was a dragon, not in body, but in the soul. He was the same as Paarthurnax and the others.

It took Valor a few moments to realize that almost the entire rebel army was staring at the dragons. Some of their mouths were gaping open, along with wide eyes and people whispering amongst themselves in disbelief. Valor then heard a sizzling sound behind him, and turned.

_"Dovahkiin, my time in Taazokaan is closing. Summon me when your hour is most dire." _The dragon's body was being devoured by a purple energy. His body and soul was leaving Nirn, returning back to the Soul Cairn where Valor had first met him. The other dragon's stayed, and to that Valor was surprised.

"You do not have to stay…if you don't want to." Valor told them.

_"We would gladly stay by your side, Dovahkiin. To rend the flesh from your foes and bring honor to your name." _Paarthurnax said.

"What of the Greybeards?" Valor asked.

_"I will return to them, they need not worry."_

_They will stay. _It took a while for him to understand what was happening. He had three dragons now, four when he would summon Durhnevir again when he was needed. _This war will be far more interesting. _

**Wrote a chapter, wasn't sure how good it was, but took a chance. Hope it was decent, as this dragon fight thingy was harder to write than you think. Might rewrite if it was too bad.**

**REVIEW? pls? **


	24. Simon V

Simon

"You should marry, my lord." Simon told his Emperor.

Althalos had slept little in these most recent nights; ever since Lady Reya had met a tragic end by poisoning he had little trust in anyone. Thankfully the Emperor did not fear his faithful councilor Simon.

"I will not take her, she is too young." Althalos replied.

"She has flowered, surely a woman ready to bear children." Simon brought up.

"I will not, she is barely a child. Not ready to marry, let alone to me who is far older." Althalos was staring at his desk while he spoke.

"You need children to ascend to the throne after you pass, my lord. With Lady Reya gone, you will need another wife to bear you sons." Simon said.

"I said no!" Althalos roared, "She belonged to my nephew, and now he is dead. Leave her to find a peasant somewhere so she can live a normal life, I will have no dealing with her."

Simon sighed, while his Emperor leaned back into his chair. The Elder Council had currently convened a meeting, but Althalos had not attended. Although it was customary, the Emperor was too stressed to deal with the political schemers and liars that inhabited that order.

"A traitor in my midst, and the Dragon at my heels." Althalos said, "I've sent countless soldiers to find Amaund Motierre, but he has disappeared off the face of Nirn. I have no doubt he did it, that craven couldn't even have stayed to face me himself."

"You will find him, I am sure of it." Simon assured him.

"Will I? I only have twenty or so men scouring the cities looking for him, but I know where he has gone. He is with the Dragonborn, he must be. Who else would want my wife dead?"

_Many people. _Simon thought, although Althalos' conclusion was still a possibility. Ever since the Emperor had learned of the Dragonborn's survival, his thoughts had been on not much else. Simon still remembered when they had received the letter.

"Even worse enough is that he _won _his first battle. The men tell me he has dragons, that he rode on their backs and wrought dragonfire upon the battlefield. They say he could shape shift into one himself, soaring through the skies, his wings creating large shadows over the ground. How can I fight such a beast?"

"I have no answer, my lord." Simon replied.

"Of course you don't, you're solution is to marry the girl. But I have more important matters on my mind, like this rebellion. High Chancellor Urandil tells me that he has just fewer than ten thousand swords. But if one of the other cities should declare for him…"

"They would not dare." Simon said.

"Are you sure? He has _dragons. _If you or I were say the lord of Cheydinhal, or Anvil, would you not pick the side of the one who wields the most destructive of creatures in Tamriel. I will not lie to you; these coming months we will see who is truly loyal to the crown, and whose honor is lower than a leech."

"The Counts will stay by your side, they would be foolish not to." Simon said.

"I didn't expect Bruma or Chorrol to side with the Dragonborn either, but now they reside at God's Eye, and already my scouts tell me they have begun marching. Should they not be stopped, they will be here in several weeks." Althalos replied.

"Then you will repel them." Simon began, "Our archers will bring down the dragons quicker than you think. And when that day comes, you may punish the Dragonborn in any matter you see fit."

"I will." Althalos said, rising from his chair. "It is time you left me to myself, Simon."

"So, about the girl…" Simon tried to speak.

"No, I will not say it again." Althalos ended the conversation, and Simon was already headed to the door. He did not turn back to give his Emperor one last look; he only kept walking until he was staring at the door.

_He looked fine, that is odd. _Although Althalos had confined himself to his room for the better part of the weeks, he had not shown any deep sadness or anger about his wife's demise. He seemed normal today, or at least as normal as he could be lately. _The Dragonborn is coming, and he has dragons._

While he took the time to head down the stairs, he shook his head in disappointment. Simon had tried to find his Emperor a proper match, and he thought this girl could have been the one. _Victoria, that was her name. _She had resided in the Imperial City with no purpose ever since Prince Vaeril had been killed during the war for Skyrim.

It took a while, but he had reached the third floor of the Imperial City Bastion. The corridor was three doors long, and the third should have been where the girl was now. Simon made his way there, pushing it open to reveal a room barely large enough to fit a bed.

The girl lay there, staring at the ceiling.

She had been very beautiful, as what should be expected of one who was to marry the Prince. She was a thin thing though, and shorter than Simon as well. She was of normal height for a woman though, and her skin was light. Her hair though was blonde, as was common with most Nords, and fell just past her shoulders. She was not hard to look upon at all.

"My lord." She rose slowly, "It was good of you to come."

"It would be cruel not to." Simon said, "I spoke with Lord Althalos."

"And?" she asked.

"You two are not to marry." Simon said.

To his surprise, the girl looked relieved. She let out a sigh, her eyes gleaming happiness in every aspect. Simon was confused.

"You did not want to marry Lord Althalos?" Simon asked.

"No, I didn't." Victoria said, "But I do appreciate you trying to help me. It was never my wish to marry him, but it is good to finally have a friend here."

"Was Prince Vaeril not your friend?" Simon asked.

Her mood darkened. "Vaeril and I did not speak often; I don't think he ever truly felt anything for me. He did not even know that we were to marry until shortly before he left for Skyrim. But he is dead now, and I am alone."

"Not alone, I will be here." Simon said, "You have one friend in this Bastion, you need not dispute that. I do hope you will forgive me though, I did not realize you did not want to marry our Emperor. I had just thought since you could not marry one Emperor, you would like to marry another."

"It was not my wish to marry at all." Victoria began, "The Prince was very gallant…but it was my father's hope that I would marry an Emperor, so that he might receive a station of more importance."

_Her father was the Count of…Anvil. _No wonder Althalos had wanted anything to do with her. The Emperor resented the Count of Anvil ever since Titus had denied giving him the city after he held it against the Dominion in the Great War.

"I had thought marrying an Emperor had been your wish…forgive me. But it was not destined anyways." Simon lightened the conversation.

"You don't need forgiveness, you did what you thought was what I wanted." Victoria said, "It was a sweet thing, and I thank you for it."

"If that is it, I will discard myself at once." Simon was already headed to the door. Victoria did not say anything; he only heard the sound of her body fall on the bed, while his hand was pushing the door open.

He turned before he could open it though.

"My lady…about Lord Althalos…what do you think of him?" Simon asked.

She was surprised by the question. "He is…he scares me." She admitted, "It should have been Vaeril. He should have been the Emperor. If he had lived, none of this would have happened. The realm would be at peace."

_There is truth in those words. _Cyrodiil was about to be encompassed in blood. And Simon could not help but wonder, if Prince Vaeril had lived, how different would everything have turned out?

**Sorry I didn't update, but once again I tried to write an Erikur chapter and was STUCK. I know what I want to do with the guy, I'm just not sure how to get there. Not that it matters, some authors take a month to update, so a few days wont hurt anybody.**

** REVIEW! **


	25. Serana III

Serana

That day came back to her in the dream.

She was in the front of the line, inside a dark cave without even the hint of sunlight. Not that her parents cared, they were Volkihar vampires, and despised the sun and everything bright. They were of the darkness, prone to living in the darkest corners of the world. But at that time she had not yet been turned, she was still a human, waiting for the event to come.

She was practically shaking, fear coursing through every inch of her body. Her father was staring at her, the look of indifference in his eyes. _He doesn't care? _She had thought that day. Harkon had never shared a true bond with his daughter.

But her mother looked scared out of her mind as well. Valerica had undergone this ritual already, and was the true parent that Serana had loved back then. They would spend much time together in the gardens, working of potions and taking care of plants and such. Serana thought she could see her sweating. _She is more scared for me than I am._

The court had raised their hands, _"Molag Bal, come to us. Fill our lives with death and destruction, turn us into the conquerors who could serve you. Father of vampires, who allowed us to embrace our true love of darkness. Come to us, we summon you!"_

It was then that their magic was channeled together at once, a blue light emanating from their hands. Energy was all around them, and the vampires began to chant. _"Father of vampires, come to us!" _they said, and Serana found herself humming it as well.

_Molag Bal…he's coming. _It was like the crack of lightning when she could hear the laughter of a terrible voice. The blue energy had concentrated at one point, where the chains at the floor of the cave were located. The vampires that stood around it all turned to Serana with one motion, and she felt someone push her from behind.

She was tumbling forward, her hands stretching outward in order to stop the fall. Someone grasped her arm and yanked her up, and she saw that it was indeed her father. "Father, nor. Please." She said, suddenly wanting to return to the castle, but he did not let go.

He dragged her to the center, and she even began to slightly thrash around. "Father! Please, I don't want to!" but his hands were to firmly wrapped around her arm, and he was too strong for her to resist. He threw her into the center, and the group of ten or so vampires circled around her.

Their hands shot out for her clothes, and she began to fight them back. _I should never have come…I should have fled when I had the chance. _One of them ripped off the cape at the back of her Royal Vampire armor, and another went for her chest. She felt the cold wind hit her when that was ripped off too, exposing her breasts. They did not stop there though, instead they continued, taking every last bit of clothing that was on her. Until eventually she was left naked, cold, and shivering.

"Chain her up." Harkon commanded.

They threw her in the middle, while Serana could hear Molag Bal's laughter growing louder. _He is almost here, any minute now. _She could hear her mother panicking, begging her father to stop this. "No." Harkon said, "She must become one of us."

First they chained up her legs, and then her wrists tot eh ground, forcing her to lie there. She could not cover herself now, and instead felt one single tear streak down her face. The cold iron kept her still, and she just waited.

Finally there was a loud crack, along with the sound of fire burning. The entire cave had grown silent, and Serana shut her eyes as much as possible. She could hear heavy breathing, and the sound of quite loud footsteps.

His voice was the most frightening she had ever heard. It was like a demon had been before her. She kept her eyes closed; else she would have begun to scream.

"Yes…Tamriel. I can tell. This place reeks of humanity." She did not see him, but she could hear. "Who is this that you have offered to me?"

"My lord." Her father said, "This is my daughter, Serana."

"Her name does not concern me, only how useful she will prove." She could hear the voice coming closer, and the footsteps.

"She is…very appealing to the eye. Yes, this will serve. You have done well, Harkon. I had never thought something this…appealing to the eye, could come from you."

_No. Please. _Serana did not dare say anything; else invoke the Daedric Prince's wrath.

It was when she felt a large, scaled hand grasp her wrist that she let out a whimper of fear. The Prince let out a chuckle, and she could hear him come very close now. _Please…no…mother, help me. _But there was nothing she could do, only watch, as Molag Bal crawled on top of her.

* * *

Her eyes shot open to see Molag Bal right beside her.

She jumped out of the bedroll that was inside the tent and let out a scream. But when she took a closer look she noticed that it was not Molag Bal. _It's just Valor…_the dream had done something to her. She saw the Daedric Prince.

Valor stirred in his bedroll, getting up and rubbing his eyes. Serana was breathing heavily, and when he noticed her presence he gave her a confused stare.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

_My father let Molag Bal rape me, and I became a vampire. And when I woke I thought you were him. _"Nothing."

Valor frowned. "Don't lie to me." He said, "What's wrong?"

"I said nothing." Serana snapped, and Valor looked as if he felt slighted.

"Sorry for bothering you." Valor rose from the ground, headed for the dresser which his sword and sheathe lay on.

"I didn't mean to…" Serana began, "It was just a dream…that's all."

Now Valor looked intrigued. "A dream? What kind?"

"About…the night."

"What night-!" Valor had begun, when he heard the sound of a dozen or so men shout at the top of their lungs. They were saying something, but for some reason Serana could not tell what it was. Valor gave her one quick look before she nodded her head, and he rushed outside.

When she had put on her traveling boots she tried to catch up to Valor, who was already ten or so feet ahead. She passed the guards who were stationed outside their tent. _The Emperor's guards, the Blades. _She still had trouble fathoming the thought that Valor would be the Emperor soon.

There was a crowd up ahead, in the middle of the night. Fires were still blazing as many of them held torches. The group consisted of twenty or so men, and more were gathering every minute. It was then that Serana could hear the voice of Count Olvir.

"You're lucky I caught you. Had any of these other folk gotten their hands on you, your head would have been rolling on the floor as we speak!" he shouted, "Look at this one. Thought he could spy on us! What a fool, how about we teach him a lesson, eh lads?"

"Take his eyes, so he can't spy on anyone again!" one Nordic warrior called out, while the rest were screaming and shouting. Serana was now on the outskirts of the group.

When they saw Valor approach, they all fell silent. Some of them bowed, while others showed their loyalty by giving him a respectful nod. "All hail the King of the Dragons!" one shouted.

"Good to see you, lad." The Count began, "Found this one while I was hunting in the forest nearby. A scout for the Legion. Trying to get a look at us."

Serana watched Valor approach the scout. He was a young man, who looked scared out of his mind. Valor bent down, as the man was on the ground after being thrown. Count Olvir was still chuckling.

"Why did the Emperor send you?" Valor asked.

"To…to look at the dragons…my lord." The boy began to panic.

"Did you see them?"

"I…no…my lord."

Valor stood straight now, and the man's eyes were still on him. The crowd was silent, all except for Olvir, who was still chuckling. Serana moved closer to get a better view, passing by several large Nordic warriors.

"A shame." Valor said, taking a few paces forward. All eyes were on him, and even the Count of Bruma had begun to stop chuckling. Serana watched, as Valor looked to the skies, and called out three names in the dragon tongue. "SAH SU NAAR!" was the first, "PAAR THUR NAX!" and then finally, "OH DAH VIING!"

It took a while, and the crowd was staring at the skies.

"I don't keep them at the camp. They scare the men." Valor pointed out to the young man.

It was not long before Serana could hear a roar from above, and then another, and several more. She could hear the flap of wings, and in the skies she could see the winged creatures circling from above. There were three of them, each as menacing as the last. One of them loosed their fire, and then they all did.

"Do you see them?" Valor asked the man, and he nodded. "What do you think?"

"They are…fearsome, my lord."

"That's 'my Emperor', boy!" Olvir spat.

The dragon's roars could still be heard from the skies, "Tell _Lord _Althalos to meet me near the river three days from now, I mean to speak with him. He is to bring no army, only enough men to serve as his guardsman. I give him my word that he shall receive no harm as long as he comes in peace. Should he deny my request, I shall take the Imperial City…with blood."

**Good enough eh? I hope it was decent. And what are your thoughts at that dream scene? I contemplated on doing it for a while. **

** What is Valor's bada** level? 0=chump, 10=True Emperor.**

**also, don't forget to read the Simon chapter I updated last night if you didn't!**

** REVIEW!**


	26. Delphine III

Delphine

Lord Althalos came on the third day.

They were at the river, their group consisting of the Blades, Valor, Serana, Lord Destrian Withertooth, Count Olvir, and Count Amundel. Each was atop a horse, while they waited for any sign of the false Emperor. They were there for a while, looking onward to the small Imperial City, which was only maybe a four days journey away.

"He's not coming." Count Amundel said.

"It is too early to tell." Valor responded.

Lord Destrian chimed in, "He will come, Althalos is many things, but he is no craven."

"Just be patient." Valor told them, "Wait and see."

So they did, Delphine sitting there in silence, while the others debated amongst themselves whether Althalos would show up. The Blades master began to grow restless, and moved her leg in the stirrups. A jolt of pain went through her, as she remembered her leg could not move well after the battle. Still, the men were talking, and Delphine noticed Serana was as silent as she was.

_She doesn't feel comfortable here. The one thing we have in common. _The woman was sitting atop her horse, not saying anything, just looking onto the horizon. Delphine stirred atop her saddle, growing fairly impatient.

It was when midday had passed and the sun was beginning to lower in the sky that they caught sight of fifty or so horses, their banners twisting in the wind. It was the simple sight of the Imperial legion symbol, a dragon. Whereas Valor's was also a dragon, instead with its wings outstretched over a red background, releasing orange flame.

In their lead was no doubt Althalos Mede. The false Emperor of Tamriel was clad in black armor, inlaid with crimson red across the shoulders, along with red gauntlets and boots. No helm was equipped. In his hand was a spear, long and deadly. They crossed the river, their steed's legs sending droplets flying. Everyone was silent when they approached.

_Here he is. W_hen the party came closer, their horses halted and Lord Althalos scanned each and every one of them. It was silent, and Delphine felt odd. The Emperor had a frown on his face.

"It seems I outnumber you." He said.

"That shouldn't matter." Valor replied, "There will be no bloodshed."

"If I wanted to, I could order my men to kill you all here right now." Althalos said.

"But you won't." Valor concluded.

Althalos then lifted his head, his arm jutting out to point the but of his spear to one of the mounted soldiers next to him. The man grabbed it, and relieved his lord of the burden of carrying it.

"I see your banner is that of a dragon."

"I am the Dragonborn." Valor told him, "It only makes sense."

"My family's banner is a dragon as well."

"Odd." Valor commented, "We share a similarity."

"I am sure we have many things in common." The man said, "We both seem to be attracted towards the Dragon Throne."

"I am not attracted to the throne, it is peace I want." Valor responded.

"You know, I have never sat on it. An ugly thing it is, looks like someone took thousands of Dragon bones and scales and forged them into one chair. Looks very uncomfortable, you wouldn't want it."

"Once again, it is not the seat I want."

Lord Althalos looked to the others. His eyes even met Delphine for a moment, but quickly changed to the others. The man looked suspicious, which is no doubt why he had brought so many soldiers.

"Lord Destrian. I had not thought you despised me so much as to rebel against me. Perhaps you have forgotten that we fought in the Great War together?"

"Aye, I didn't forget." Lord Withertooth started, "But I also remembered the Dragonborn being named heir to the throne."

It was then that the false Emperor looked disgruntled. "I remember when the whole realm received word that he was dead. And I was named Emperor in his place. These are things that cannot be undone."

"Oh, they could be." Valor smirked, "By the tip of a blade, or peacefully."

"Aye, my reign could be ended as quickly as a strike of a dagger. But so could yours." Althalos pointed out.

"But unlike you, none of my subjects would want to stab me in the back." Valor told him.

"Are you so sure? Do not feel too comfortable. The Counts of Bruma and Chorrol were quick to turn their coats, do not think they would hesitate to do the same to you." Then Althalos' attention was to Serana. "Is this your Empress?"

"Aye." Valor said.

"Well, she is a beauty. Have you two wed yet?" Althalos asked.

"Not yet, but soon."

_He plans to marry? _Delphine knew it would have to come eventually, as none of his sons would be legitimate if he was not married, but she had thought it would be much later.

"Soon. It would be wiser to put a child in her now, as if you think to take the Imperial City, you will not live to return to her."

"Do you threaten our Emperor?" Delphine's hand went to her sword belt.

"I did not threaten, I only advised." Althalos began, "Please forgive me for asking, but why have you asked me to meet you here, Dragonborn?"

"To negotiate…if you would cooperate." Valor said.

"And how would we negotiate. What are your terms?"

Valor began. "You are to withhold your place on the Dragon Throne, along with any other titles you have been granted by the Elder Council. In your place I will ascend and rule over Tamriel, and bring about the second line of Dragonborn Emperors. You will keep control over the Deadwater, and any other lands under your possession. You will swear an oath of servitude to me, promising to serve me and the Empire faithfully and never seek the crown again."

Althalos almost laughed. "This is quite the list, Dragonborn. One I cannot fulfill, regretfully so." He stood up straight atop his horse, as if almost stretching his chest out. "The Dragon Throne is mine. You should kneel before your true Emperor."

"We have only one true Emperor." Count Olvir said, "He who speaks the old Nordic tongue. Who has slain the World-Eater. The true hero of the Nordic people, and the King of dragons."

"The King of dragons?" Althalos was amused, "Where are they, by the way? I had hoped to see them. Where are they hiding? Show them to me; it is not every day a man sets his eyes upon a dragon."

"Should this meeting go sour, you will see them soon enough." The Dragonborn promised.

"Resorting to threats, are we? By the laws and rights of me being Emperor, I could command my men to strike you down right now for such insolence." He replied.

"Please try, I can assure you it would not be so easy." The true Emperor responded.

"You are a confident one, aren't you?" Althalos asked, "Good. It would be a shame to have a meek, timid opponent. Needless to say though, your confidence will prove little use. I have a feeling these dragons don't truly exist. Its' just traveler's talk, isn't it?"

"Oh no, they're real."

"Please show them to me. I would like to prove these rumors for myself." Althalos requested.

Valor did not speak, and the group was as silent as a crypt. Althalos had a smirk on his face that Delphine wanted to wipe away with a slash of her sword. Yet she kept control of herself. Yet when the silence was starting to become nerve-wrecking, she heard the sound of wings flapping. _What? He did not even call their names! _

Althalos' smirk disappeared in an instant when three dragons were soaring through the sky. The Imperial Soldiers all raised their weapons, and Lord Althalos unsheathed the blade at his side. When the three creatures began to land behind them, the Legionnaires and the false Emperor backed away. Delphine could hear their impact, and the horses panicked for a short while.

"They…they're real." Althalos confirmed for himself.

_"Is this the one who stole your crown, Dovahkiin? If so I will bathe him in fire!" _Sahsunaar said, yet Valor held his hand up in protest.

"Leave him be." Valor said.

_He is here. _Delphine thought. She turned her head very slowly to look at the dragon Paarthurnax, who had once served Alduin and brought destruction to humanity during the Dragon war. Delphine turned back to Althalos again, not wanting to make contact. _What does Esbern think?_

"As you can see, my lord, these dragons are very real. And I can assure you, they are very deadly. I am sure you do not need an example." Valor said.

"This…this changes nothing." Althalos suddenly seemed confident again, "These terms are outrageous. I will not accept them."

"Is that so?" Valor asked, "I was afraid you would say that."

"I think it is time I return to my city now, your men can try to take it when the time comes." Althalos replied.

"Try? No, we will not try…we _will _take the Imperial City, if you are too stubborn to put your soldier's lives over your crown."

It was then that Althalos genuinely seemed angered. "As if I would ever give the Empire to a boy who doesn't even know which side to use a blade! If you ever thought this would end with me giving you my crown and returning to the Deadwater, you were mistaken."

"A shame. You would have been of much more use there, where you can be of some good." The Dragonborn said.

Althalos calmed himself, and the dragons were silent. "For the good of the Empire, I will give you two days to reconsider this rebellion. Lower the banners and send the men home, and I will pardon your actions and allow you to return to Skyrim." He said, "Otherwise you will we defeated."

Lord Althalos was the first to grasp the reins of his horse and turn back; the Imperial Legionnaire's following at a quick pace. Valor's own faithful servants stood still and watched as the false Emperor of Tamriel evaded them. _Valor could have dealt one quick blow and ended the war. _But that would not have been the right thing, but it would have been the smart thing to do.

"What now?" Count Amundel asked.

"We have two days." Valor began, "But I don't mean to wait. If we ride fast we can get to the Imperial City that quickly, where we will take the heart of the Empire, and show Lord Althalos who should have reconsidered."

**New chapter. Hope it was decent, as i always like writing about Althalos.**

**Also, everybody should check out "The Currents of time." by Maximsk ( Spell that right?) it is a story of the battle against the Thalmor, and the beginning of a trend I would love to see in this fandom. originality.**

**REVIEW!**


	27. Yeerlin III

Yeerlin

"A letter." Elenwen held up the piece of parchment, "With the seal of the Aldmeri Dominion."

_What news do they have for us now? _Yeerlin's brethren had not sent a letter in weeks, and the last one had held little information. Yet something seemed different about this one, and Yeerlin could not put his finger on it. _Is it bad news? Good? Both?_

"When did you receive this?" Yeerlin asked, that would determine how old the news was.

"Just an hour ago. Do you think I would have waited to open it otherwise?" Elenwen made a sarcastic remark, one that Yeerlin did not appreciate right now.

"Open it; I want to see the contents." Yeerlin said.

"The same as always. The Empire is crumbling, we will strike soon, be ready." Elenwen replied, "I am sure it will it will be nothing new."

"Or it could be something far more." Yeerlin commented.

The smirk that had been on Elenwen's face had escaped her; in place was a determined, intrigued disguise. Yeerlin knew she would rather be doing something else then dealing with papers, but that was her job. What she was good for.

She broke the wax seal with her finger, unfolding the parchment and reading intently. Yeerlin watched as her expression changed from hard to surprised, fearful, and delighted. Suddenly Yeerlin worried, what did the letter say?

"This is…delightful." Elenwen gasped, and suddenly began to chuckle. "Finally!"

"What is it? What does it say!" Yeerlin shouted.

"Here," Elenwen handed him the letter. "Look for yourself."

He snatched it form her hand, hesitating slightly as he feared for what the words would say. _Elenwen looks delighted, but will I be?_

_ The two dragons fight against each other, there is no better time. The ships have set sail, and are due for Cyrodill's shores no longer than a month. Twenty-thousand in the first wave, twenty more in the second. Look for them near Anvil._

_ The Empire will be ours._

_ Sincerely, Allalian. _

_ Is it true? Has the time come? _Allalian had said that the ships are have set sail, and that means the war is coming. Yeerlin had not expected it to come so soon, he thought they would wait. He turned back to the elven woman, who was still smiling.

"This war delights you, doesn't it?" Yeerlin asked.

"Why wouldn't it?" Elenwen asked, "Tamriel belongs to the elves. We built it, we sustained it, and it was ours. But it was men who took it from us, who stole what was rightfully ours. Why would I not be happy when justice will finally be served?"

"But why so early? Why didn't they wait?" Yeerlin was confused.

"Now is when the true fighting begins. The Dragonborn and the Emperor are at war, totally distracted to the affairs of the outside world. The Dominion will pass unnoticed, and land on Cyrodiil's shores unhindered. Is there truly a better time?"

"I suppose not." Yeerlin said, "But a _month_. A month is a long time; the war may very well be over by then."

"This war is far from over. Althalos will never give up so long that he lives, and the Dragonborn will not stop until he either yields or is killed. And I can assure you one thing, if that boy thinks to defeat Althalos Mede in the field, he is sadly mistaken."

"But the Dragonborn has _dragons._" Yeerlin reminded her.

"What truth do we have of these dragons, the word of travelers? For all we know, it could have been a tale sprouted from Valor's own men, to put fear in the heart of Althalos. We have nothing to fear of them, and if he does have them, a good arrow will put them down quickly."

"Dragons are not so easily slain." Yeerlin pointed out.

"Do you really believe that?" Elenwen asked, "And man can kill a dragon. Do you think that Valor truly possesses and abnormal talent for slaying the beasts? He is just a normal man born with the ability to absorb their power. But other than that, he is the same as all of us. If he can kill them, so can we, and Althalos for that matter."

"Dragons have destroyed cities. Razed Kingdoms. _Burned Empires to the ground."_

"Good, maybe they will do that to this one." Elenwen let out a laugh.

_This is all a game to her. _Elenwen had no fear over the possibility of the Dominion losing this war. And with dragons on the opposing side, it was a large possibility.

"There is no need to fear, this war will prove us the victors. Who can stand in our way? The two 'Emperors' will most likely kill one another, further weakening the Empire. And when the time is right, and the ships reach shore, we strike."

"And what if we lose? What happens then?" Yeerlin asked.

"You lack faith in your own people, don't you? Were it not for the White-Gold Concordat, the Empire would have become ashes years ago. Allalian was a fool to sign it; we could have ended it then and there. But the past is the past, and now is the time for vengeance." Elenwen remarked.

_Vengeance, that's what this is all about. _He had shared the blood thirst that most of his people did when concerning the Empire, but he still understood their motives. The Aldmeri Dominion was the only hope of the elves retaining what was stolen from them long ago, and Yeerlin was a proud supporter of their cause, no matter how many differences he had with them.

"I am eagerly awaiting more news. We should reply immediately." Elenwen said.

"Elenwen." Yeerlin began, "I have a feeling that I am not aware of all of the Dominion's plans. There are things being hidden from me isn't there?"

Elenwen slowly returned her gaze to him, and while her hand reached for the inkpot and quill on the desk, she gave him a look of surprise. "I assumed you knew that already. But yes, there are things that are being hidden from you. Things that could decide the fate of the war. But don't worry, you will see them soon enough."

**Wrote something, and thought it was decent enough to post. Like it? I hope so.**

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	28. Simon VI

Simon

"Run! That's your advice? Run and hide?" Althalos asked.

"Convene a meeting with the Elder Council, and notify them that you plan to leave the city. All of them are free to come if they wish, and that you will leave before the sun sets."

"I will not run away from my enemies. And even if I did, where would I go?" the Emperor asked.

"Back to the Deadwater." Simon began, "Retreat back to your fortress, increase the chances of you living."

It was then that Althalos Mede had a look of utter confusion, anger, and disappointment in his face. In all the years Simon had known him, never had he seen him like this.

"You think I will lose…is that it?" the soft tone he used scared Simon more than his shouting.

"My lord…he has dragons." Simon reminded him.

"I know that!" the Emperor's mood changed. "My walls are being prepared for siege, my fletchers are making arrows by the hundreds, my smiths are forging fresh steel and armor, my scouts come and go everyday bringing me news of their movements, yet I have nobody who can help me kill those damn dragons!"

_And you never will. _Simon knew nobody who could combat dragons. Not even Feldren had an answer for him when he had asked the Necromancer not too long ago, and Simon had returned to his Emperor without any answers.

"The creatures are deadly, disgraceful things, and yet I have no way to get rid of them. My only hope is that my men are better archers than I think, and they can hit them while they are in the air. But should they fail, I don't know what can stop them." Althalos said, "Going out head on would be suicide, even with our larger numbers."

"How many men do we have?" Simon wanted to make sure.

"Here we have Eleven-thousand. But I have sent couriers to every corner of Cyrodiil requesting aid should it be needed. None save the Count of Bravil have responded, and he is in too dangerous territory to aid us."

Althalos' head lowered, and his mood darkened. "I held Anvil with two-hundred men. _I _held it, while the Count of Anvil scurried in fear from the elves, wetting his own pants. I was trained to lead, to command. That was all my father taught me.

"Titus was always the important one; he was who my father had entrusted to carry the Mede legacy, while I was assumed to join the Legion. And so I did, I gave up all hope of one day ruling, and learned the art of warfare. Yet _nobody _taught me how to deal with dragons."

"Perhaps then, you don't have to deal with them." Simon said.

They said no more, and while Althalos had dwelt on his thoughts Simon headed to the door. He had little else to say, and obviously his Emperor was the same. But his thoughts did not change as he stepped down the stairs, his legs beginning to ache. The Elder Council was surely convening a meeting, and Simon had not seen Amaund Motierre, High Chancellor Urandil, or Lady Alysa in days. They were there of course (aside from Amaund) but nowhere that Simon had resided.

The Bastion's halls were empty, with only the Emperor's guards standing still and silent along the walls, their respected weapons at the ready. Simon gave one a nod as he passed by, and kept on walking. The soldier did not reply. _It's not his job to talk to me, it is to protect Althalos. _

From what the reports had said, the Dragonborn's host was moving extremely quickly. Valor had obviously rejected Althalos' offer to surrender, and instead has chosen to make one final ride to his destination. _But that's the mistake he's made, his men and horses will be tired. They will not be able to breach the walls. _Even with dragons, the battle could not be won with them alone.

As he went further, he turned left to see the exit. He walked forwards, unsure where else to go. Althalos had sent him out, and the Elder Council would not want a new visitor in the middle of a session. The only decision was to wander the streets and do something. _Anything. _

As he left the Bastion and walked the streets, he arched his body up to look at the remnants of the White-Gold tower. He had never seen it before the Great War, but had heard that it was indeed constructed by the elves. _They destroyed their own landmark…they are not as bright as we assume. _

Unless there was a reason behind it. Had they desired to show Tamriel how powerful the Empire truly was…by destroying the one monument that displayed how 'mighty' and 'powerful' it had been? _They succeeded in that then. At least. _

His feet led the way, as he was not even looking at where he was headed. Instead he looked at the townsfolk, and how their faces varied. Some looked delighted, some looked mortified, and Simon knew why. _They love the Dragonborn, but are scared of the battle. None love Althalos._

"We have to hurry up! If we do not get all of our food now, the looters will take them from the stalls during the siege!" one man was yelling at his wife.

"I don't have the coin! How can I buy food when I haven't made a Septim in days!" the female peasant was shouting.

Simon could not help but listen, as they were shouting. He turned off his course as his hand fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the handful of gold that was in his pocket. When he held it out for them, not saying a word, they stared at him with disbelief.

"Thank you!" the woman gasped, and the husband looked happier than a boy receiving his first sword.

"Buy food, lots of it. This siege will be long."

They rushed off, not leaving another word. Simon did not look back to see where they were headed, as he himself walked closer to the road that would eventually take him to the wall.

He could hear the sound of commanders yelling at their men to do their jobs, and the men replying with "Yes, sir." Simon walked a little faster, his boredom pushing him forward. The ring of a hammer beating against hammer filled his ears, along with the twang of a bow.

Before the ladder, on the road, were many soldiers. Somewhere practicing target practice while others were simply lounging or speaking with others. There was also a smith who worked on an anvil, beating on what looked like a soon-to-be mace. Little of them paid attention to him, all except for the Legate.

"Legate Edward." Simon called out.

"Lord Simon. I had not expected you to visit."

"I did not as well." Simon replied, "I thought I might see your progress."

"Of course, if you would follow me I would gladly show you." The man replied.

_He fought with the Dragonborn once. What does he think of this? _Simon wondered. Legate Edward had come with Prince Vaeril to Skyrim back during the Draugr war, and had helped in the battle at Labyrinthian. Simon did not doubt that he held some friendship with the false Emperor, no matter how loyal he said he was.

He led them to the smith. "Our smith has been working diligently in order to outfit the men that have outdated gear. Most of the men have been accounted for, except for the few lads who have just joined the ranks. Also, the fletchers have already crafted enough arrows for every soldier to have twelve or so in their quiver."

"What of the men…how are they doing?" Simon asked.

"They are well. The younger lads need to be blooded, but the seasoned men will watch after them. With the help of the Legate's they should do well enough to serve." The Legate told him, "I hope everything is up to par, Lord Simon?"

"It is not." Simon replied, "Not until everything is perfect." He turned his head slightly to look around him, and then looked back at the Legate, "Take me to your wall."

They walked for a few moments before they came upon a long ladder that would lead them up. The Legate went up first, followed by Simon. His arms did not tire, instead he felt filled with energy. It was a long while climbing, constantly looking down and then jerking his head back up. The wall felt higher now than it had looked, and when they reached the top, he let out a sigh.

He looked off into the rolling hills out in the distant wilderness. Past the farms and small cottages were trees, hundreds and hundreds of trees. It was known as "The forest of the Emperor." But now the small-folk had been calling it "The Dragon's roost." Smoke could be seen rising, and Simon knew the enemy would arrive soon.

"They are coming." Simon told himself.

"Aye, my lord. They should be here by midnight, if they keep the same pace." Legate Edward replied.

"The Dragons will be trouble, though." Simon pointed out, "I hope your archers are ready. It will be no easy thing to kill one of those beasts."

"My men will do as best as they can." Edward said.

"I hope so." Simon said, "I heard a few of them fought in the Draugr war. Surely that would have prepared them for such a battle?"

"I doubt it. True, there were dragons involved, but nothing we fought. Not only that, but we had the Prince back then." The Legate's mood seemed to change, "_He _led us to victory."

"Prince Vaeril will not be forgotten, I can assure you. They buried him with his forefathers, with those who have led the Empire, he is at rest."

"Is he really?"

Later Simon had left the wall and the soldiers all together, choosing to return to his quarters. There was no true reason for him to be out any longer, as he had checked on the progress of the siege preparations for as much as he was aware of. He was not one that was knowledgeable in the art of warfare; those tasks should be dealt with by Althalos himself. _Unless he heeds my advice._

When he arrived, he stayed there until he was sure night was falling. Nobody had cared to visit him, only a few serving maids who had offered to clean his private room. He had denied, as he was not sure if he would ever return. Neither did he know if he would live past the time. The Dragonborn's host was coming, and soon the heart of the Empire would be locked in a deadly conflict.

He went to sleep then.

His dreams were all but normal. He remembered standing in an empty hallway, looking upon a stranger. Yet he did not look like one. He looked young, and his hair was long and white. He turned to him and smiled, and Simon found himself bowing to him. A little after that, he was back in the normal world, when he saw the shadow of a thick man next to him.

"You should rise, my lord." He said.

Simon shot up from his bed immediately, only to come face to face with the High Chancellor of the Elder Council. Urandil was clad in his normal attire, hinting that another session had just ended.

"You should ready all your things, Lord Simon." He said, "Night is still upon us. If we hurry, we can leave the city before the Dragonborn lays siege."

"What?" Simon was in a daze.

"We are escaping, remember? It was your idea. Lord Althalos along with the rest of the Elder Council is waiting for you in the underground passageways. You must move quickly if we want to assure our safety."

Simon did not reply, he only rose form his bed and donned his normal noble clothes. High Chancellor Urandil was waiting by the door, watching in silence. The Emperor's advisor quickly grabbed an iron dagger, and made long strides for the door.

The Chancellor opened the door for him, and quickly tried to catch up when Simon was rushing for a destination he was clueless about. He stopped in his tracks, and noticed that the Chancellor was staring at him…from the other side of the hall.

"You're going the wrong way, my lord." Urandil said, "Follow me, and be quiet. No one must know where we are headed."

Simon quickly went that way, with the High Chancellor waiting for him patiently. When he caught up, they quickly paced down the stairs. Simon wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, to escape all of this and just go back to his dreams and rest.

It was as silent as a crypt in the Bastion at night. Their footsteps echoed down the staircase, and even their breath could be heard by anyone who could have walked by. Thankfully nobody did.

"Where are all of the guards?" Simon asked.

"Some are at the wall, others with the Emperor. Those that remained…let's just say that I dealt with them." Urandil whispered, "We have no need for additional ears than our own."

_He dealt with them? What does that mean? _High Chancellor Urandil had been a mysterious, questionable man, just like so many of the others. He was in possession of wide arrays of power…Simon suddenly felt quite uncomfortable.

When they were down the flights of stairs, High Chancellor Urandil took a quick turn down to the corridor that would lead to the Elder Council chamber. When they reached that area, they went through one of the several doors that would take them in. The Chancellor did that for him, and he stepped in.

The room seemed smaller than he last remembered, and when he turned to the High Chancellor, the man gave him a sly smirk. "Please continue to follow me, my lord." He told him, "It is not far, I assure you."

And he was right about that. Simon was led to the middle of the room, where often Urandil himself or the Emperor would address the Council from the stand. Urandil bent down and pushed the stand over, revealing a small trap-door that looked at least a decade old.

He lifted it up, and looked straight up at Simon. "In here, my lord. You're Emperor and the Elder Council awaits. Do be careful, there have been even Emperors who have slipped and fell from the ladder to their deaths."

He stepped into the darkness, his right foot going out first as he descended down from the ladder. When the time came, High Chancellor Urandil came as well. Simon could hear voices in the distance, and when his legs hit the floor, Urandil followed.

"Just ahead."

So they went. It took a minute. Or ten minutes. Or twenty minutes. Simon was not sure how long, only that he could not see five feet in front of him. But he _did _see something. _Two torches._

"There they are." Urandil said.

There were at least fifty members of the Elder Council, along with the men and women who had come from the Deadwater. Twenty guards stood with blades in hand, one of them carrying torches. But it was the Emperor who was in the lead, bearing his own torch.

"I see you took my advice." Simon pointed out when Althalos noticed him.

"It took some convincing, but it had to be done." The mage, Lady Alysa said.

"If you may excuse me, we should move forward at once." Urandil said, "It will not be long before the Dragonborn lays siege to the Imperial City. We must be gone by then."

"He is right." The Emperor told them, "As much as it pains me to run like a coward, only a fool would attempt to battle those dragons. Until we find a way to kill them, we must flee."

_Flee…to the Deadwater. _No doubt that was where the Emperor was headed, but what then? The Dragonborn would only pursue him there, and then lay siege to that as well. _There is no other choice. _He realized, and when they began their walk, he wondered where the other side of the path would lead them.

_**I**_** contemplated doing this for some time. Do i have Althalos fight the Dragonborn, or do this? eventually i made a decision, and am not sure if this was the right one. Either way, whats done is done. Lets see where this all leads.**

**Enjoy it? hate it? whats your opinion of Althalos...oh wait...never mind, i know what you all think of him. How about Urandil? he doesn't seem very trustworthy, yet he ****_does _****at the same time. How did you feel about the chapter?**

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	29. The Wyvern

The Wyvern

Lord Destrian's frontlines were a combination of both the men from Bruma and Chorrol, and even some of his own. They were a fearsome lot, yet many of them had never held a blade in their lives, or had never learned to fight the Imperial way. The civilized way.

That could be mostly attributed to the men of Bruma, whose warriors fought like the race they were mostly full of. The Nords did not fight with organization or grace, but with honor and courage. _Honor is good, but it does not win battles._

And it was then, while atop his black stallion that Lord Withertooth knew that these men were the only hope for the Empire. Valor's host was outnumbered by at least one-thousand men, if his numbers were right. Not only that, but they had the Imperial City's walls to hide behind. These men had nothing.

_It is time to see how those old walls can hold up against our trebuchets. _They had at least six of those war machines, and they would prove useful enough. It had taken a while for the men to build them, and their quality was less than great, but if used right they would prove useful in the battle to come. _We have no siege towers though, and only one battering ram. _

They would have to pray that would be useful enough. If not, then this battle could take a turn for the worse. Valor's men were strong and valiant fighters, but they themselves could not simply walk up to the gates. Not only that, but their ladders could easily be pushed down by those who were strong enough.

And Destrian knew _that _would be a major problem as well. The ladders could only be useful should the men atop the walls prove too distracted to bring them down. The host's archers would have to do heavy damage in order for that to happen, and Lord Withertooth prayed they would.

They were two miles out from the cities walls, and Destrian could see the remnants of the White-Gold tower jutting out from the city's core. The walls were high and daunting, and there were soldiers atop them as well. Their arrows were ready for the men to charge, holding the string back steadily. Destrian knew many of the men in the frontlines would be taken out in the first volley, and that saddened him deeply.

Atop his horse, he turned his head right to left in order to make sure everyone was in their places. The trebuchets were in the back being loaded and ready for fire, and perhaps the walls would suffer heavy damage. If not, they would have to take the risk of using the ladders, which could be a waste of men should they fail.

_The dragons will come soon. _Valor would be with them of course, on their backs as he soars through the air as his kind was meant to. But Destrian would lead the men from below, with the help of Count Olvir. Unfortunately, Count Amundel was not one for warfare, and stayed at the camp.

"C'mon! Tell the men to run; I want to chop some Legion heads off with my axe already!" Olvir shouted, his hand hovering over the hilt of his weapon.

"All in due time." Destrian replied, "You must be patient. We cannot act rashly."

"Battle is the best time to be rash." Olvir retorted, "It is when we are in danger that acting bold and taking risks can land you the greatest results."

"Who told you that?" Withertooth asked.

"I did."

_I can't act rash, this is not my army. _These men belonged to the Dragonborn Emperor, and should he lose this battle then their chances of a successful rebellion would be slim to none. He could not waste the opportunity, nor make a costly mistake.

It was nighttime, so he could see the fires that were atop the walls in order for the archers to set their arrows to flame. That would be a problem for the men carrying the battering ram, as if too many lit arrows came in contact with the dry wood, the only chance of bringing the gate down would be lost.

"Are the trebuchets ready?" Lord Destrian hollered.

"Yes, my lord!" one of the Legate's shouted back,

"Good." Destrian told him, "Make sure the boulders are not aflame, I do not want the Dragonborn's city to be ruined before he sets foot inside of it."

The man did not say anything to Destrian; instead he turned back to his men. "Fire!"

It was like the sound of a whip when the men let it fire. The wooden mechanisms that made the trebuchet did its work, with a small pouch springing outwards to send the projectile into the air. In the night sky Destrian almost lost track of them, but when they hit the wall he did not.

Even from there he could see what had become of several sections of the Imperial City's wall when the large stones had made contact. For some of the areas it had caused nothing more than a crack, but in other areas it took off whole chunks of the top layer, sending the men atop the wall to their deaths as well. The dust and debris piled up in the air, but Destrian could still see the city.

It took several minutes for them to arm the trebuchets again, and when that moment came more stones were sent flying. This time some passed the wall entirely, landing inside the city itself. While another took off another chunk of the wall near a fire pit, sending the chunk of burning wood toppling to the cities roads from the looks of it. Destrian could not tell from his destination.

"Forward!" Lord Withertooth shouted.

"At last! Finally my axe will feel Imperial blood!" Count Olvir was shouting as the host was slowly advancing. Lord Withertooth grasped the reins of his horse once again, and led his steed forward, his right hand quickly reaching for his sword-belt. The footsteps behind him let him know that the host was still following at a steady pace as he kept on riding, the stone projectiles continuing to pound the walls of the Imperial City.

His steed was considerably faster than his men, so naturally he was in the lead of the host, his sword in the air as he shouted, "For the Dragonborn! For Tamriel!" his men took up the chant, "The King of dragons!" they responded with, filling their spirits.

It was then that the archers that were not worried about the trebuchets released the first volley of arrows. They were Imperial ones, forged from the finest of the Empire's steel. Several streaked past him, but he did not worry. He remembered what he was told by his father. _The man who is in the lead is never hit by arrows. Archers aim for the area where there are the most soldiers. _

It was at that point that his father's lessons had proved false. His steed fell immediately after the mount had suffered an arrow right in the head. The fall was a dangerous and violent one, and when he was done tumbling on the ground he almost though the horse's body was atop him. That fear was false though, only his mind playing tricks on him. The rebel soldiers sped past him, but Count Olvir held out his hand when he ran by to help Destrian up.

The lord of God's Eye grabbed his sword from the ground and took off again. This time he was near the middle of the first wave, and was now the prime target for most of the Legionnaire's arrows. They were aflame, well, most of them. And one time or another Destrian would feel a slight sense of warmth when one passed by, but no matter what he kept on running.

"Get the ladders up!" he shouted when he was right next to the wall, along with many of the other soldiers. He saw the rebellion's archers returning fire to the soldiers above, and it was a battle of arrows at this point. Each side was losing considerable amounts of men, but from the looks of it the Legionnaire's were winning.

The first ladder was carried by a dozen or so men, and when they sent it up it took the strength of everyone down below to make sure nobody pushed it down. Count Olvir was the first to go up, fearing neither man nor the risk of falling. Several of his Nordic warriors followed, and even Lord Destrian was with them as well.

His climbing was a clumsy thing, as he had almost fallen twice. His hands were moist with sweat from stress, as they were before every battle, and he had to hold his blade at the same time. _Climbing a ladder with one hand is no easy thing. _

The divines had blessed Lord Withertooth with the ability to reach the top, to which he was very thankful. It would be a holy miracle if they won this battle after all with the men they had, and the second disappearance of the Dragonborn before battle. But deep in the back of his mind Lord Withertooth knew why. _He is readying his dragons. _

The first thing he saw when on the walls was Count Olvir swinging his axe like a madman. Without breaking a sweat the Nordic warrior had cut down three trained Legionnaire soldiers in little under a minute. Destrian laughed on the inside, but stopped that immediately when an arrow came dangerously close to his head.

It was then that a sword came swinging towards him from the left. Destrian had little time to respond, so he did what his instincts told him too and leaped backwards. But that was not the smartest thing either, as he collided with someone behind him, who happened to be one of his own men. The enemy soldier rushed forward to end the quick foray, but Destrian's own sword lashed out right before his enemy could make a strike.

The man had fallen to the ground, and Lord Withertooth wrenched his blade free. It was coated with blood, and Destrian immediately felt grateful that Imperial armor was so poorly fashioned. _Their one weakness is our advantage. _

He got back on his feet and surveyed the battle around him. The trebuchets had stopped firing so often once the rebels had climbed from the ladders on the walls, but they still kept at it. Down below the men were doing well, as the Imperial archers were too focused on the men who had breached their defenses over the ones below. Still, it was far from over just yet.

"That's ten now, lad!" Count Olvir was telling some random rebel, "How many do you have?"

_That's no ordinary soldier. That's Rowan._

"Fifteen at the moment." The man said, his sword being wielded with one hand, a shield in the other. "I need ten more to break the record for the other battle at the Imperial City."

"Hah! This is just a warm-up for when those pointy-eared bastards come back! Think of this as practice!" the Count of Bruma joked.

But Withertooth knew this was no jape. Once they claimed the Imperial City and Valor sat the Dragon Throne, then they could make jokes. But until that moment, every minute was a minute wasted.

Still, they fought. The three's style's complemented each other. Olvir was brutish yet quick, Rowan was graceful yet strong, and Destrian was both. Together with the help from fellow rebels they cleared soldier after soldier from the wall. Withertooth had seen nothing like it.

_Where is Althalos? He should be here. _It was against his character to hide from battle, Destrian had suspected that something was amiss. Althalos should have been at the wall with his men, as he would have done any other day.

But Destrian heard chanting coming from below, and looked to the outside of the city. Dozens of soldiers were carrying a large wooden battering-ram. They were slowly approaching the gate, and that was when the Legion's remaining archers went to work. They did not waste time, and quickly loosed as many arrows as they could. Those that carried the ram were quickly detained, with nothing to stop it.

"We've got to kill those archers!" Rowan shouted.

But before Destrian could reply, a roar too familiar to him echoed from the skies. Immediately the men from the rebellion cheered, "King of the dragons!" some shouted, and a smirk was upon Destrian's face. With most of the men atop the walls were gone, so the scaled creatures would meet much less resistance than normal.

The three swooped down at once, each looking just as menacing as the next. He could see Valor atop the elder one, his sword flailing in the wind. Some men rejoiced other cried out in fear.

Soon it was anything but silent.

Destrian forgot about the battle around him for a second and focused on the dragons. The one that bore Valor on his back pulled its wings to its body, diving down and plummeting to the ground below. But before it would have suffered a fatal fall it stuck out its legs and flapped its wings. The men down below all moved out of the way as the dragon landed right in front of the gate.

"Any man who rapes will lose their manhood. Any man who loots will lose a hand." Valor shouted, and his dragon rammed its head against the large gates of the Imperial City. It took several tried before there was a crack like thunder, and the gates swung open to allow the rebels inside.

"We must get down below" Olvir shouted, "I would not miss out on the best part of the battle!"

There was a ladder not far away, and they were the first to rush straight for it. The other soldiers that were not engaged in battle followed as well, and soon enough they descended into the city.

He climbed down some more, doing exactly what he did not want. This time he did not almost fall however, and made it down successfully. When he was finally on the cities road, he and the others sprinted forward near the main gate. That was where the battle would be the thickest, where they would be needed.

The first thing he saw when they were relatively close was dragonfire. The white stone floor was alight with it, and those who dared to oppose the Dragonborn or legend were bathed in flame. Forced to cook inside their own armor while their unexposed skin was burnt alive.

The other two dragons perched themselves on top of the buildings and did the same as the other, belting out more flames. There were those that thought they could be courageous and tried to slay the old one, but they soon were destroyed. Rebels stormed in, passing the great beast as the rest of the Legionnaires either fought or ran. But most ran.

Valor's dragon took the skies again while the men rushed farther into the city. There were at least thirty or so Legionnaires waiting for them before the first gate that would take them to the Bastion, each stood still and without fear. But when the two forces collided the numbers of the enemy soon diminished quicker than expected. They were cut down with ease, and the men pressed on.

_Another damn gate. _Destrian thought, but when he turned he noticed that more men had picked up the battering-ram and were carrying it towards them at that same moment. The battle around them had turned into a small skirmish, so there was no worry of them not making it safely.

When they did, they stopped right before the large gate. "HEAVE!" they all cried out as their strength sent he large ram flying towards the closed gate. They collided with a bang, and then the men took up the cry again. "HEAVE!" they repeated the action three more times, and then the gate was open.

They rushed in, and Destrian's blade was in the air. Count Olvir and Rowan were not far behind him, and when he noticed that there were only fifty or so men opposing them. Destrian decided to locate the Bastion, which was not far to the left of the White-gold tower, which loomed over them like a mountain.

Valor's dragons landed again, and this time he leaped off his neck and onto the ground. Some of the men cheered, though most were too busy fighting. The dragons flew away after Valor had already begun to run to Lord Withertooth's direction, his sword still in his hand.

"Is he in here?" Valor asked.

"He should be. I didn't see him at the walls, I see no other possibility."

"Then let's do this." Valor rammed his body into the large door, but it did not break. He tried again, and again, and again, and still it stayed there. But it was when Count Olvir came that the door was brought down.

"Let's go see what Althalos thinks of us now!" Olvir laughed.

Inside it was large, with several hallways leading to very different areas. On the end of the current one however was a staircase, in which Destrian had no doubt would lead to the Emperor's chambers. They rushed for it, hoping to end this battle and war as quickly as possible.

They quickly ran up the stairs, their legs not feeling fatigued at all. Valor was in the lead, climbing faster than any of them. It took a while before they reached the top, but when they did they did waste time to open the door.

It was unlocked to their surprise, and inside it was empty. When Destrian saw the look of Valor's face, he felt saddened as well. Had Althalos escaped them? Could it be possible that he had left the city?

"Where is he?" Valor asked.

"I'm not sure." Destrian replied.

"He was not out in the battle, he has to be somewhere around here!" Olvir said.

"There are dozens of underground sewers and such that he could have escaped from, we should look there." Lord Withertooth replied.

"Look there immediately, I would not have him escape my grasp." Valor said.

_Where has he gone? _Of course he could be anywhere in the city, which in that case they would conduct a search. But the Imperial City was known for its array of escapable routes, which Destrian should have considered. _I never would have guessed he would run._

The battle was won, but not the war.

**Something happened! yayz! who would have known i would write a chapter with something important happening?**

**Did you enjoy the chapter? think its the best thing since sliced bread? or do you think that i am a moron and should stop writing like the good guest who decided to enlighten me on his opinion?**

**REVIEW!**


	30. Elenwen

Elenwen

Yeerlin was gone; the gods had granted her that at least. She was alone in her Solar for once, left to only herself and her letters. She was fine with that though, as long as nobody annoyed her, she would always be content.

She had hoped that word from Allalian would come sooner, but on this occasion it seemed as if the elf had taken his time in sending his latest bit of information. At first Elenwen was disgruntled, _they think of me as a joke, don't they? _She had always thought of it as an insult when she had been sent to Skyrim, tasked with living alongside these barbarians.

_A punishment fit for a murderer. _She would rather serve tie in Alinor's prisons than be with the Nords for a week. Thankfully her embassy was one of the few places where a Nord was almost impossible to find. That exception was broken though when she would throw her parties to gain their favor, in which the brutes would come to drink all of her mead.

_ But they will be gone soon enough. _The progress had gone well, just as Hermaeus Mora had predicted. The White-Gold tower, Red Mountain, the Crystal tower, Orichalc tower, the Brass tower, and the Green-sap tower were all destroyed or deactivated. Mora's plan had worked out well enough so far, but it was not yet done.

Man would bend, and when that day comes the Elves would once again rise to divinity as was their right. The plan was genius, and it seemed as if the Daedric Prince would prove to be of some help. _But I still do not trust him._

It was on that day while she sat on her chair at the desk, a younger recruit came to her after she had broken her fast. He did not say anything, but simply handed her the small piece of parchment. She took it quickly, inspecting it to find the seal of the Aldmeri Dominion.

_Finally, some news. _It was by the power of some sort of magic that she was able to receive these letters so quickly, yet is still felt like a millennium since the last bit of news. She had grown addicted to learning what was going on, she needed to know what was happening.

After she took it, her hand quickly broke the wax seal. She spent a long minute before opening it, for all she knew the news could be bad. _Did some of the ships sink? Did they all die in a storm? Has war begun? Did they arrive sooner than normal? _So many questions. So many answers.

Then she read it.

_The Adamantine tower has fallen, and the second wave of ships has set sail. First wave should be a third of the way there; Empire still knows nothing of our coming. Snow throat is all that's left. Our scholars and historians have discussed. And they think they know what the Snow throat, or the Snow tower is._

_ The Throat of the World._

_ Soon we will regain the divinity that was stolen from us. _

_ Sincerely, Allalian._

She closed the letter slowly, and Elenwen swore that her jaw was wide open. The Throat of the World was the final tower? Skyrim would decide the future of the world as they knew it? She had trouble believing it at first, but as time passed she realized it made more sense than she thought.

"Bring me Yeerlin…now!" Elenwen shouted to one of her guards, who gave her a nod and did as she commanded. She was not fairly excited to see the elf, but she needed to let him know as soon as possible. He had sent to her by Allalian herself, and deserved to hear the news.

It was at least ten minutes or so before Yeerlin came before her clad in the same normal clothes. He looked as normal as ever, except this time he looked even more annoyed by her summoning than other times. _He will not be annoyed after he learns of this._

"My lady, I had not expected you to summon me at this time…forgive me for my lateness. I would have come sooner, but I was in a deep discussion with one of our Justiciars."

"No matter, we have more important things to discuss." Elenwen said, holding up her letter.

"More news? This quickly?" Yeerlin was just as surprised, "What news?"

"The Adamantine tower has fallen." Elenwen stated.

"The tower? Good, Mora's plan has been working then?" Yeerlin asked.

"It seems so, I only hope that it actually works, and is not just some foul jape on the Daedra's part." Elenwen grumbled.

"I would not be surprised if it was." Yeerlin responded, "Daedra are known to trick us mortals to do their will, giving us false promises. If you ask me, Allalian took a risk dealing with him."

"Of course he took a risk, we all did." Elenwen said, "But there is more. He says the scholars have convened and come to the conclusion that the Throat of the World is the last tower."

Yeerlin did not look nearly as surprised as Elenwen had been. "Then it will be destroyed, and we will finally return to the divinity of our ancestors."

"Apparently so. But if this is true, we will have to do something about it." Elenwen pointed out.

"If you suggest destroying the mountain…" Yeerlin began, but Elenwen had already interrupted him.

"I am not an idiot. Why would I suggest that? What would I possibly destroy a mountain with? Elven magic is powerful, but not that powerful. No, I will take no course of action in this regard, I am sure Allalian will."

"Then what were you going to say?" Yeerlin asked.

"It means that Skyrim will soon become a battle-ground for the next Great-War. I had hoped it would be contained in Cyrodiil, but that will not be the case. We need support, someone who could help us when the time comes. We need a Jarl."

"Erikur." Yeerlin concluded.

"Falk has already been falsely accused for supporting the Thalmor, sending us private information on Solitude's secret information, and sending Stormcloak's the Legion's battle plans during the Civil war. Should the Holy trial land him in the cellars, Erikur could be names Jarl of Solitude."

"He has the influence." Yeerlin replied, "He is the primary business mogul in Solitude, I would be surprised if he was not elected Jarl."

"Let us see." Elenwen said, "If the war reaches Skyrim, it would serve us better to have a Jarl by our side."

"Then it would be wise to make sure Erikur succeeds."

"Oh." Elenwen said, "He will."

**Stuff happened...or did it? i guess you guys will be the judge of that.**

**Thought i would give Elenwen a POV, and reveal the GIGANTIC totally unheard of theory of the Dominion's plans that Michael Kirkbride DID NOT write about in Morrowind. Yep...aren't my original plot ideas amazing?**

**I hope this chapter did not make me seem like a moron (I am looking at you, angry guest) and i hope it was enjoyable.**

**PS: Zimexus, where you been?**


	31. Valor VII

Valor

It was an uncomfortable seat, the Dragon Throne. It was not the original of course, that one had been destroyed along with most of the White-Gold tower during the Great War. No, this was a replica, except the scales still felt like real dragon scales, and the seat still felt like dragon bone. Had he not been well learnt in his histories, Valor would have thought this was the true seat.

Although it was a fake, it still looked splendid. It was quite large, with the 'teeth' of dragons on the armrest. Around ten feet tall, the back was dotted with the spikes one would often find on a dragon's tail, forcing Valor to sit straight and not lean back. It was not painted a specific color; it was only kept the color of the 'bones'.

_No wonder Althalos never sat on it. _Valor thought, _Was the original even worse? _He could not bear the thought of what the original, forged of real dragon parts, was like. _Titus knew. _Valor often wished the old man was alive so that he would have someone truly help him.

_An Emperor receives no help. _That was the message Valor had received ever since the Imperial City had been taken. Lord Destrian was busy scouring the underground tunnels with his men in order to find Lord Althalos, and Count Amundel was too busy meeting the Lord's and Nobles who were inside the city during the attack. Valor had Count Olvir for company, but he proved little use when it came to ruling.

_This is nothing. The true challenge is ahead. _He thought, rubbing his forehead in the process. He had received little sleep the past night; instead he was once again troubled by a dream. It seemed that was all that was happening to him of late. He continued to see Miraak, and the blade that Konahrik had used in the battle of Labyrinthian. It was always the same, and in the end he was constricted by tentacles.

_Hermaeus Mora means to frighten me. I will not scurry so easily. _If it was to strike fear in Valor's heart that Hermaeus Mora was aiming at, the Dragonborn would give him no such pleasure. He had defeated both of Mora's recent champions, and would gladly do it again should the time come.

The hallway in which he resided was long, and was at the highest level of the Imperial City Bastion. It had been used very little under the short reign of Lord Althalos, but now Valor had revived it. The torches on the walls were lit, the place was cleaned all over, and the Nobles had gathered to hope to gain favor from their Emperor.

"My Emperor, we have many who wish to speak with you." Delphine, the leader of Valor's personal guard told him from down the small set of steps. Her leg was still patched up from injury, but she could still serve.

"Bring them in." Valor commanded.

Valor fidgeted in his chair for a moment to get comfortable. The two doors opened slowly at first, and then quickly soon after. When the two doors were out of the way, Valor saw a soldier quickly walk towards him. He was clad in the Imperial heavy armor, signaling that he was of high status in the Legion. _He looks familiar. _

_"All hail Valor son of Thralin, the first of his name. King of men and dragons, savior of Skyrim, leader of the Empire, champion and blessed of Akatosh, Emperor of Tamriel, and Dragonborn of legend." _Delphine called out.

He bowed when he was close enough. "My Emperor, it is a pleasure to be in your presence."

"You have wished to speak with me, sir?" Valor asked.

"Indeed I do, my Emperor." The man replied.

"And what would that be?"

The man unsheathed his sword, and Valor noticed that his Blades reached for their sword belts. But when the Legate went to his knee, they eased up slightly. Valor chuckled, and Delphine gave him an odd look.

"On behalf of the Imperial Legion in the Imperial City, I would swear my blade to you, my Emperor. To fight at your side, to be your weapon against your enemies."

"Have we met before, sir?" Valor asked.

"Not directly, but we did fight together once." He said, "I am Legate Edward, who rode with Prince Vaeril to Skyrim. I was there at the battle of Labyrinthian, if you could recall."

"Aye, I remember." Valor thought back to those days when he had slain Konahrik, and attended the Prince's funeral not long after. "It warms my heart to know you would pledge your blade to me knowing I sit in the seat that was rightfully Vaeril's."

"Although his death pained me, I can rest knowing the line of Dragonborn Emperor's has been rightfully restored. Vaeril would have wanted nothing more." Legate Edward said.

"I would gladly accept your service." Valor told him, "Head to my armorer, he will get you outfitted with the beast steel. You deserve it."

"Thank you, my Emperor."

There were peasants, Nobles, Lords, and commoners. Even some farmers had come to him for his guidance on how to plant their crops. Valor had little answer for them, as he was not skilled in farming at all. But he _did _have one of his own men go and mentor the man. Valor felt good knowing he could help in that way at least.

The day was far from gone however, as after all day he had been seeing guests, there was still one more who awaited him.

"Who is it?" Valor asked Delphine.

"The Count of Anvil, my Emperor."

_The Count of Anvil? _Had the Count come to declare for Valor? To swear fealty to him? The Dragonborn was amazed that he arrived so quick, as if he was already on his way expecting Valor to win. "Send him in quickly."

The doors opened as they always had, it was nothing new. But the man was. He was tall for an Imperial, almost Elven height, and his skin was quite lighter as well. He had no hair though, showing he was balding of age. His strides were long, and he had a smirk on his face as well. Two guards followed.

"My Emperor, I trust you know who I am." He said.

"You should bow before your Emperor." Delphine said through her teeth, slightly angered.

"Oh, forgive me." The man still had the smirk on his face when he bowed, his guards doing the same. Valor kept an eye on him, studying his every movement. _He is not taking me seriously._

"What brings you here, my lord?" Valor asked.

"Please, my mother named me Vergo. Nothing would make me happier than you referring to me as such." He said.

"Well then, Vergo, what brings you here?" Valor asked.

His smirk did not vanish. "My Emperor, it should be in your knowledge that my daughter has been here in the Imperial City for some time. She was destined to marry Titus' son, the Prince, but he was killed. Have you met her?"

"I have." Valor said. He had met he girl on the night he had taken the Imperial City. The girl was cowering in her room, the door barred along with the windows. She _was _quite pretty.

"She is a beauty, isn't she?" Count Vergo asked, "Is she pleasing to the eye, my Emperor?"

"Indeed, she is very beautiful." Valor replied.

"I had hoped you would think so." Vergo said, "It had been my hope that you would find her pleasing. I have heard word that you are unmarried. An Emperor should never be alone, and deserves a beautiful woman to bear him sons. I come here to propose my daughter's hand, and the men of Anvil."

_The men of Anvil? _Valor did not know how many men Anvil possessed, but any would be helpful. Not only that, but Anvil had ships which could never be bad in war.

"How many men does Anvil possess?" Valor asked.

"Eight-thousand swords, my Emperor." Vergo's smirk seemed to widen. And Valor had become irritated. Did he do that to everyone, or just him?

Eight-thousand swords were almost as much as he had now. Eight-thousand swords could be enough to take down a city. Eight-thousand swords could be enough to seal the deal and win this war for good. _Eight-thousand swords is something I cannot have._

"My lord...nothing would please me more than to have your support, to have your men follow my banner. But I cannot marry your daughter, I belong to another."

"You are unmarried…you have not been promised to anybody yet." Thankfully Vergo's smirk had faded, being replaced with a slightly angered face.

"True, I am not betrothed yet. But the hour shall arrive soon, and I am afraid I cannot marry two by the laws of Gods and men. Not only that, but I don't want to." Valor stated.

"You don't want to?" Vergo asked, his voice rising. "I rode here for a long while, boy. I will not leave empty handed."

"If you call my Emperor a boy again-!" Delphine's hand was at her sword-hilt, but Vergo had already interrupted.

"You will what, strike me down? I had hoped the great Dragonborn could do better than that. From what I see here, you are no more than an arrogant boy who wants to play war. The Divines themselves frown upon you right now; you are making a terrible mistake."

"If you think that insulting me will change my mind, you are mistaken." Valor told him.

"If you had sense you would take my daughter. You need my swords, without them you cannot hope to win this petty war. Althalos Mede is not a man to be taken lightly, no matter how many dragons you have."

"I cannot marry your daughter. But perhaps I can give you something to compensate?" Valor said, waving for his scribe. The boy was young, and in his hands were already a quill and parchment.

Valor whispered in the boy's ear, and he wrote down almost as quickly as the Dragonborn spoke. It was done in a mere minute, and already Valor stretched out his hand and handed the folded letter to Delphine, who in turn gave it to the Count of Anvil.

He read it aloud. "Count Vergo of Anvil shall be granted the ancient fortresses of the Broadwater and the Deadwater once the war is ended. He has free reign to grant his lands to any Lord of Noble he sees fit, and is possession of them until the end of time."

He gave Valor one look full of anger. "_This _is what you give me? Castles that are older than this city itself? I offer you my daughter to wed and eight-thousand swords, and you think to trick me into accepting this?"

"I did not mean to trick you, my lord." Valor replied.

With one fluid motion the Count's hands ripped apart the small parchment into halves, then quarters. He threw them on the floor just as quickly, and Valor swore he had never seen a man so angered. His eyebrow was practically twitching.

"I would not accept anything from a boy so green he can't even tie his boots! Keep your lands; perhaps I shall have them back when Lord Althalos retakes his throne."

He walked off quicker than he came in, his two guards following him. Valor let out a sight, yet he knew he had made the right choice. He would not give up Serana for any amount of swords.

"A bold move, Valor." Delphine said, using his actual name. "Those were swords that could have come in handy."

"Perhaps, but Althalos is already on the run. Do we really need eight-thousand swords?" Valor asked.

"He is on the run for now, but he will not be forever. And you have just given him the full force of Anvil." Delphine reminded him.

"It matters not. I will not marry Victoria, my Empress shall be another."

"Even if you changed your mind, you have dishonored him. Most likely he is fetching the girl at once."

"I do not regret my decision." Valor said, sinking into his chair. One of the spikes poked into his back, but he did not care. He had just given Lord Althalos an eight-thousand men head start. Perhaps he would thank him later, but not the way Valor would like.

**New chapter, and i really liked writing this one. I hope i don't seem like a moron after writing this, and that it was satisfactory to you all.**

**PS: ZIMEXUS WHERE YOU GO?**

**REVIEW!**


	32. Destrian

Destrian

He brought seven men down with him in the tunnels.

It took a lot of scouring in the Bastion for one of Lord Withertooth's men to finally discover a small tunnel underneath the Elder Council chambers. Destrian for one was surprised, he had mostly expected for an escape route to be in the Emperor's personal quarters, but once again he was proven wrong.

He was the first to delve down into the depths, taking slow, steady steps downwards. The height was quite high, and he did not want to risk slipping and falling to his death. When his feet finally hit the ground, he motioned for the others to follow.

And that they did. It took a few minutes before all of them were down, and they had to hold the torches carefully to ensure that they were not dropped. Destrian could barely see anything himself, without those torches they would be in trouble.

"Let's hope they are not terribly far ahead." He told them, as one of the soldiers handed him a torch.

So they went on, their steps bringing them forward. It was a slow pace at first, so Destrian ordered the men to quicken their speed. Soon enough they were jogging, then sprinting in their full plate armor. They took a break, then ran again, took another break, then ran again. And yet still they were no closer to the exit.

_We must be under the Imperial City right now. _What were the peasants and citizens doing? Are they still hiding in their homes? Are they cursing the Dragonborn's name? Do they long for Lord Althalos back? _No…never….they couldn't. _

The journey down the tunnels was bad on their legs, but the worst part was that they were not sure where they were headed. For all they knew, this would lead them to the whole other side of the province. The ancient Ayleids who built the city surely did not care about how tired Lord Destrian was when making these tunnels.

_Hopefully we are getting close. _Destrian knew deep in his mind that anytime now they would find Lord Althalos fleeing the city like a coward. Lord Withertooth was still shocked that he had not faced Valor himself. _If he had no dragons, Althalos would have rode in by himself to face him._

Still they went on, caring not who was above or below them. The men would sometimes complain that they needed to halt, and Destrian would grudgingly let them rest. But not for too long, they were chasing somebody.

And then he heard them.

It took perhaps another half an hour of complete running before Destrian could hear voices ahead of them. It was like a whisper, just a faint noise, but enough for Destrian to have hope. He gave one nod to his men before he sprinted faster than he ever had before.

The sprinting brought them closer and closer, and the noise got louder and louder with every step. Soon Destrian noticed that it was actually more than one voice that was speaking…still, he did not hear Althalos.

The tunnels were beginning to be illuminated when he saw the light coming from the torches. The shadows of several figures were against the walls, causing Destrian to rush forward quicker than before, the soldiers following. _They walk too slowly for their own good. _

The voices stopped, instead replaced by panic. _They hear us. _Destrian didn't care though; they had finally got them right where he wanted them. And now he could bring them back to Valor peacefully, or by force.

When he turned to face them, their faces were full of fear. There were dozens of them just staring at him and the soldiers that he brought. It took Lord Withertooth a few moments before he saw the angered look on Lord Althalos' face. He was in the lead, clutching s pear in one hand and a torch in the other. They all backed away except for the false Emperor.

"It seems we've found you." Lord Destrian smirked.

The Emperor's guards took a few steps forward to stand with their Emperor, their blades at the ready. Althalos on the other hand had the butt of his spear on the ground, and he had a disgusted look at Destrian.

"How did you find us?" Althalos asked.

"Inquiry, study…finding the tunnel underneath the Elder Council chambers, and running faster than you were walking."

"I knew we should have gone quicker." Althalos said, but it was more like he said that for himself.

Destrian's sword left its sheath, the scabbard being relieved of its steel. A soft ring echoed through the dark tunnel as Lord Withertooth handed his torch to one of the soldiers who accompanied him. There were five enemy guardsmen, if this came to battle, Destrian had the edge.

"I had hoped you would come peacefully." Withertooth told them.

"You hopes betray you, then." Althalos replied, "It greaves me to meet as foes, we fought together once."

"That we did, but we chose different paths after that." Destrian replied, "I cannot let you remain as Emperor, Althalos."

"Do you truthfully put that much faith in this boy?" the Emperor did not ask out of anger, his tone was still normal. "Tell me truth; you only support this boy out of spite for me, correct?"

"I have nothing against you personally, only the way you rule." Destrian kept a firm grip on his sword, so he was ready for anything.

Althalos then looked like he felt slighted. "What have I done in my short reign to deserve so much hate from you, my lord? I did only what is right, _I _was crowned, while the whole realm thought the Dragonborn dead. Is it my fault that I was chosen Emperor?"

"You should have stepped down after you learned of the Dragonborn's survival."

"I took an oath; I cannot simply step down…not that I'd want to." Althalos then had a smirk on his face, "I think this is more personal. Is it because the Elder Council chose me over you, my lord? You did not expect them to choose a Lord to be Emperor, did you? But do not worry, if I was not Titus' brother, they would not have picked me either."

"This is nothing personal, I can assure you." Destrian replied, "I simply want what is best for the Empire, for Tamriel, for the realm."

"The _realm." _Althalos scoffed, "You think that boy will do any good for the realm? Who did he fight, the Stormcloaks? A dirt militia raised by a scoundrel whose loyalty was cheaper than a cutthroat. He does not know true war, and when it comes you will see how much of a boy he truly is."

"He is not a boy." Destrian told him, "He is the Emperor. He whose seat is the Dragon Throne, and who will return the Empire to its former glory."

"And when the Dominion comes back, his dragons will prove little use." Althalos replied, "The Empire will never see its past glory restored, my brother saw to that. Your efforts should be placed on other things, like preparing for the destruction that will come."

"A destruction that could be prevented if you stepped down." Destrian said.

"Unfortunately, you are as blind as you are stupid. If you think me to surrender so that the Dragonborn can prance me around and hang me in front of the Imperial City then you are mistaken. This war is far from over. Should you return, thank the Dragonborn for keeping my seat warm for me."

Althalos had turned his back, and Destrian panicked. "No!" he shouted "Don't let him escape!"

His men obeyed.

It was eight on six, so the odds were in their favor. Destrian's soldiers rushed forward, their blades high in the air and their battle cries loud. Althalos' guards took formation, and with their shields in front they all survived the first strike. Destrian took a few steps forward and looked at the crowd around them. All looked scare out of their minds, and one of the Elder Council members had wet his pants.

They were locked in deadly conflict, and as quick as it had begun it was already fading away. One of Destrian's men who was closest to him was already disarmed with a kick to the hand, and the enemy bashed his shield against his face, ending it all with a stab in the neck. Destrian replied with a quick blow to the head, creating a gash right in the man's face. He fell to the ground, screaming in agony.

Around him the battle was fading away, with his men surprisingly on the losing side. Four of the seven he brought still lived, while the enemy had four as well. It was even now, but his men were tired, battle had made them weary.

Still they fought, and when Destrian was not looking he saw something dart towards him.

It was Althalos' spear.

The Emperor gave Destrian one look in the eyes before sending his weapons forward again. The spearhead grazed across his forehead, causing a small scratch that send a slight sensation of pain through him. He raised his blade in protest, readying himself for the next strike. Now was when Destrian would see who was truly superior.

The fight was much more difficult than normal, which was largely due to the fact that he could not see very well. The tunnels underground were dark without the torches, and Destrian frankly had dropped his during the battle. Not only that, but the torches his men possessed not reliable, as the source of light was constantly moving with them. More than once he had barely escaped being struck by Althalos' weapon.

Destrian took a risk and sent one powerful strike forward, but he only hit air. The weight of his sword pulled him down, and at that moment the false Emperor's spear darted towards him, striking Lord Withertooth right between the chest plate and his arm. Destrian let out a cry of pain, but he had no time to relish in it.

He leaped back as fast as he could, switching his sword to his left hand, as his right arm was pretty much useless. He grimaced in pain as he tried to bring it up to wipe away some sweat on his forehead. Althalos looked directly at him from only ten feet away, the spearhead coated in blood.

Destrian was clumsy with his left hand, and he barely managed to put a dent in the side Lord Althalos' armor. The Mede brother then did the unexpected and knocked Destrian's sword out of his hand with one blow with his fist. Destrian let out a sharp gasp of pain as his wrist turned red.

Lord Withertooth looked into Althalos' eyes for a brief moment. "Do it, end it already." He said, "Show me how much honor you truly possess."

Destrian did not flinch, nor did he try to escape. It was over, he had lost. The war would continue, and the victor was unknown to him. Lord Withertooth prayed in his mind that Valor be victorious, that he renew the line of Dragonborn Emperors. And when the steel spearhead came for his throat, Destrian barely felt a thing until it was over.

**First major death of the story, not counting Titus. Hope it was not too upsetting, and i dearly hope you don't think of me as a moron.**

**REVIEW!**


	33. Erikur II

**Just a reminder, since i know Erikur has been noticably absent. **

**A refresh for you, if you forgot. Remember the Yeerlin/Elenwen chapter when discussing Erikur's dealings. They discuss Falk Firebeard framed for dealing with the Thalmor.**

**Enjoy the chapter, and lets celebrate Erikur's return together!**

Erikur

Erikur had never visited the dungeons below the Blue Palace, and for good reason. There had been rumors of ghosts, and the living dead patrolling the deep tunnels underneath Solitude. Yet today he had to, in order to find his good friend Falk Firebeard in one of those cells.

_The plan worked perfectly. _Elenwen had given it to him weeks before, and it had worked like no other. Erikur knew that the fools in the Blue Palace would never look into who actually wrote those letters, they would never compare the handwriting. They would just take what was given them and move on. _Fools, Elenwen was right, they are all stupid._

The jailer was practically covered in a black robe, so Erikur had a hard time figuring out what he looked like. He was a large fellow, and his breathing was louder than a bears. His hands were covered with gloves, and he had a hood over his ace that did not allow Erikur to know what race he belonged to. None of that mattered though, as long as he did what he was told.

The jailer led him into the cells, down a corridor where Erikur could see every prisoner that had ever been arrested and had not yet stood trial. Falk's was on the end, the one that looked in worse condition than the others.

"That one hasn't been in use since the Thieves Guild was strong here. Had the Guildmaster chained up there for a whole year before he escaped, made a whole in the wall while I was asleep." The jailer grunted, yet Erikur's eyes were still on the cell mates.

The people inside didn't look like ordinary people. Those that were down here often had terrible scars or even missing limbs, and one man was missing both his eyes and a nose. Erikur almost retched his breakfast, yet he kept it in long enough.

The jailer laughed. "Never been down in the cells before? They all retch at least once down here, you will too soon."

"Why are they all like that?" Erikur asked.

"Torture." The jailer replied, and when he saw Erikur's face he laughed again. "You thought Elisif was a harmless little girl, didn't you? You never saw the true side of her, the inner ruler. She was always a violent one, never shied away from torturing someone for information."

_Her true side? _Erikur had always thought of High Queen Elisif as exactly what she was, a woman who was more interested in mourning over her husband than ruling a province. Did Erikur know less than he thought?

"This cell right here is his." The jailer said.

Past the iron bars, Falk Firebeard was asleep on his bed. He looked unscathed, for now at least. His cell was simply a concrete bed with a bucket that was obviously where he would go about his business. Erikur could smell it from here, yet the stench was not enough to make him gag.

The jailer started banging on the gate. "Wake up, you!" he shouted, "Get out of that bed or you won't be getting breakfast!"

Falk Firebeard rolled in his bed, waking slowly. The jailer produced a small key and quickly unlocked the cell gate. Erikur took a few steps inside, and the jailer handed Erikur the key and closed the gate behind them. Erikur twisted it around in his hand, and chuckled a little inside.

"You've look well, my lord." Erikur told him.

Falk looked dirtier than a peasant, and in here one could not tell that he had once been the High Queen's steward. His clothes looked ragged and filthy, and dirt had covered his face. Dust had settles all over the cell, so Erikur began to cough.

"Erikur…what are you doing here?" Falk asked with disgust.

"I simply came to visit. Is that so hard to believe?" Erikur asked.

"It is when you were the one who got me in here in the first place." Falk Firebeard told him.

"Got you in here…no, you got yourself in this mess. Sending letters to the Thalmor? I could think of no bigger scum." Erikur sounded harsh, and perhaps that was because he had done that very thing. And he knew Falk was innocent.

"I already told you and the court that I know nothing of those letters. I was framed." The steward responded.

"Framed? Who would want to frame you?" Erikur asked.

Falk Firebeard stared him in the eyes.

_He knows it's me. _There was much competition aside from Erikur for the rank of Jarl in Solitude. Thane John and Thane Bryling both were counting their coins and putting everything forth to win the throne of Solitude, yet somehow Falk knew it was him.

"I know you wrote those letters." Falk said, "The handwriting wasn't mine, even if those ice-brains are too foolish to look into that matter. No…it wasn't my handwriting, but I've read the letters you would send me while on business trips…they look the same."

"You should know that in business there are many who know the art of copying someone's handwriting style. Someone could have fooled you." Erikur lied.

"Fooled me? I think not…I know it was you, you put me in this cell so that you could gain the seat for whatever reasons, I don't care. All I know is that when the High Priest begins the trial and sees that I am not guilty, I will be free of this pit, and you will be the first person I come for."

"Is that a threat?" Erikur asked.

"Aye, it very well bloody is. You may be the business mogul here in Solitude, but I have powerful friends as well. I won't forget what has happened here, you can rest assured on that matter."

"Well first, you will have to prove not guilty to the High Priest of the Eight." Erikur said, "Then you will have to try to lay a hand on me when I become Jarl, which I can assure you, is no easy thing."

"Elisif was a Jarl." Falk said, "A Queen, in fact. She was the highest ruler of them all, yet just one arrow and her future slipped away. It could be done just as easily to you, except without the Thalmor's help."

_What?_

"That's right, I know. Do you think I'm blind? I have spies just like everyone else here, and I know who you've been meeting, what you've talked about. Perhaps next time when you are having a special gathering with Elenwen, you should check the shadows."

_Check the shadows. _Elenwen had told him that once, the night that Elisif had been assassinated. But there was a bigger problem here, that Erikur's relations with the Thalmor were no longer a secret. And if Falk were to tell, he could be in this cell not too long from now.

"That's it, not so quick to talk now, are you?" Firebeard chuckled, "Scurry on out of here, I'm tired."

Erikur was already at the gate his key opening it quickly, but he turned one last time to the former steward to High Queen Elisif. "The vote for who becomes Jarl is tomorrow. Should I be elected, I wouldn't get too comfortable in that cell."

Erikur walked away quickly after, not turning back. He handed the jailer the keys almost instantly after he sighted him, wanting nothing more than to get out of the cells. _If Falk thinks to backstab me, he is mistaken. _

**Not terribly long, but an Erikur chapter at all is an accomplishment. I dont know what happened, all of a sudden i knew what to write. I have always known what i wanted to do with him, and what the endgame was, but i just did not know what to write.**

**Things changed!**

**WE ALL SHOULD REVIEW TO CELEBRATE ERIKUR'S RETURN ONTO THE SCENE! WE ALL SHOULD REVIEW TO CELEBRATE THIS STORY! WE ALL SHOULD REVIEW BECAUSE I ASKED AND TOOK TIME WRITING AND PEOPLE TELLING ME WHAT HTEY LIKED AND DIDNT LIKE IS IMPORTANT SO I DO/DON'T DO WHAT THEY DID/DIDN'T LIKE!**

**Jk...but review anyways? Also, dont forget to read the last Destrian chapter if you haven't. **


	34. Serana IV

Serana

"My gallant King protects my honor, I thank you for it." Serana smiled playfully.

"Took a lot of courage too. I gave up around eight-thousand soldiers for you, I expected him to throw a fit. But that's too bad, I'm already taken." Valor grinned while he was cleaning his blade.

His corridor was the only place Serana got to see Valor anymore. Often he would be in the throne room dealing with the citizens, or with the Counts discussing battle plans and such. Serana felt as if she had been off the scene for a short while, but now she was back.

His sword was long, slender, and now clean. His rag was covered with a little dust and dirt, but not too much to look totally disgusting. The room thankfully was just as clean, and was fit for an Emperor. Almost as wide as most peasants' houses, it was a wide, open space. And the bed was a large one as well, curtain like fabrics hanging from it. They on the other hand were simply sitting on the floor, right next to each other as Serana's eyes traced the blade along with the rag.

"Who is his daughter?" Serana asked.

"A woman named Victoria. Her father almost took her with him if I hadn't ordered Delphine to stop him. She's our royal prisoner now. Perhaps that will make the Count think twice before declaring for Lord Althalos."

"I'm sure it will." Serana said, "He wouldn't want to declare for a loser."

Valor chuckled. "He is a loser, isn't he?"

"Well, he sure isn't winning." Serana smiled, "Last I checked, he got his ass handed to him."

"Letting your tongue run wild, huh?" Valor asked.

Serana held in her laughter.

Her Emperor looked confused. "Something funny?" he asked, his eyebrow cocked upwards.

_Yes. _"Um…no, not at all. Just an interesting choice of words."

"You've got a dirty mind there, missy." Valor's blade was now finally finished. No longer had it been covered with dirt and the muck of war, instead it was like a fresh forged piece of art. Serana watched as Valor held it in the air, looking at the shine as the light from the window hit it.

"A sword for an Emperor." He smiled while he said it, "A sword for a King."

"The King of dragons." Serana jokingly began to bow, _"Dovahkiin,_ _Mu qiilaan tum wah ok moro."_

_ We bow down to his glory. _Valor had taken the liberty of teaching Serana the dragon tongue while he had still been leader of the Castle Volkihar after they had killed her father. It had been difficult at first, as the language is too guttural for the tongue to master easily. But she had always been interested in it…and Valor seemed to find it very attractive.

"_Hi honaht rinik saag tol."_ Valor replied, lowering his sword slightly.

_You sound very sexy saying that. _"Do I?" Serana laughed.

"Indeed."

"I hope you'll be able to control yourself."

"I don't know." Valor said, "Maybe I'll-!"

The sound of a knock came from the door. The grin on Valor's face was wiped away, instead replaced by the serious, ruler look he often donned while around the Nobles and Lords. "Come in!" the Dragonborn ruler shouted and the door swung open to reveal one of Count Bruma soldiers.

"My Emperor, your needed in the throne room."

"I will report there at once." Valor gave one look to Serana, "Will you accompany me, my lady?"

"It would be my honor." Serana said, and Valor began to rise. When he was on his feet, he held out his hand to help Serana up as well. When that was done, they both were headed to the door, and the soldier waiting for them.

Their journey up the steps was a short one. The throne room was only one floor above, and easily accessed and reached from the Emperor's personal chambers. Serana had only seen it once, as she did not care for the people within. But she would go today.

When they had reached the room, and Valor had already taken his seat on the Dragon Throne, he had dragged a small chair aside for Serana. She sat there gratefully, but also was concerned for why they were there.

Delphine, Esbern, and the other members of the Blades marched to the steps leading to the Dragon Throne. Each had a hand on the hilt of their blades, which were currently sheathed. Now they had donned a different armor, forged specially for them. An armor set with the color crimson, and a dragon embroidered on the chest plate.

"Delphine, do you perhaps know what's going on here?" Valor asked.

"Someone has come to pay you a visit." Delphine told him, turning around once again.

The gates opened, and Serana squirmed slightly in her seat. All this waiting had made her uncomfortable. Who was coming? Someone important, obviously, or else they would not have asked for Valor's presence.

From those doors came a group of at least twenty or so soldiers, each carrying large spear that slightly dangled in the air. Each moved in a fluid motion, and stopped in their tracks to face the center walkway, where another man came forward. He was rich looking, obviously in a position of power. His hair was short on the other hand, and was as golden as his men's armor. He walked slower than most, taking his time.

He bowed before the Dragon Throne. "My lord, it is good to see you."

"Forgive my rudeness, but who are you, sir?" Valor asked.

"I do not blame you; it is not new to my ears that you are a stranger to Cyrodiil. Men know me as Cassius, the Count of Cheydinhal."

_What? _If this man was indeed the Count of Cheydinhal, then there was only one reason why he was here…unless he had other intentions. Serana squealed with joy on the inside. This war might just end a little quicker.

"And may I ask, why have you come here, my lord?" Valor questioned him.

"For one simple reason." Cassius waved to one of his soldiers, and he approached his Count with his spear in hand, pointing the butt towards him. He took it quickly, and the man returned to his post.

"It would be in my best intention to declare for you, Dragonborn." He said.

"If that is your wish, it can be graciously granted, I would like nothing more than to have your support. We need all the help we can get."

"I waited for a while, and continued to hear the news. I did not want to rush into something I could not win, so I took my time. I knew Lord Althalos was a true commander, one who I had faith in should there be another war with the Dominion. But you bested him, and I have become generally intrigued by you, Dragonborn."

"Will you declare or me then, my lord?" the Dragonborn Emperor asked.

"I will declare for you." Count Cassius said, "If you let me see your dragons."

After that ordeal had been done, Serana went back to her quarters. She had little friends out here aside from some of the shield-maidens she had met in the war-camps. But she had no idea where they were now, or if they survived the battle for the Imperial City.

Instead, she stayed alone in the room, eyeing a book that she had been thinking of reading. She was still in the bed for a while before she convinced herself to pick it up. When she did, the leather was fine and nicely bound. There were two others, as this story had been a trilogy. She opened it and read.

It was a fantastic book, full of great tales of war and death. She got through the first one in only an hour, and smiled when the tale of Jon of Solitude had ended. It was marvelous, and Serana instantly reached out for the second one. It was significantly shorter than the first, yet she was sure it would still be amazing.

When she had opened up to the first page, she heard a light knock on the door. "It's open." She said softly, not paying attention to who entered.

Valor walked in slowly, and he looked quite different, like something was wrong. Serana's head shot up as she closed the book. "How did it go?"

"Well, he saw my dragons and declared out before the gate."

It made sense. Ever since the Imperial City had been taken, the dragons had been given freedom to roam as they please as long as they did not venture too far off. Most likely the Count declared for Valor right at the gate.

"We are up five-thousand men."

"That's good." Serana said, "Maybe you can go and claim the Deadwater for yourself, since Althalos is not defending it."

"Once Lord Destrian returns from the tunnels, I will make a move. Lord Althalos is hiding somewhere around that area, and I will find him." Valor said, but soon he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and let out a sigh.

Serana laid the book back on the shelf of the dresser. "You okay?"

"Yes." He simply replied, saying nothing else. His hand fumbled in his pocket, and he turned to Serana, who looked quite confused.

"You look like something's wrong." Serana told him.

"Nothing's wrong. Is something wrong with you?"

He shifted in the bed. "Serana…we have been together for some time. Even though I was kind of absent for part of it. I feel we have gotten to know each other a lot during this time. But these are dangerous times nowadays, and there is something I need to do."

Valor slowly pulled out something from his pocket. It was long, like a necklace of some sort. Serana had seen it before, yet she could not pinpoint exactly what it was. He got back on his feet and went to the other side of the bed where she was, putting the necklace around his neck. _An Amulet of Mara. _She realized.

"Serana...will you marry me?"

**Well, this may be the shortest Serana chapter yet. But anyways, wrote it just cause. Felt it was decent enough.**

**I just found out there is a creative writing club at our school, and i am going Friday! WHOO! wonder what we'll do there?**

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	35. Erikur III

Erikur

Thirty votes had counted towards Erikur.

To an outsider, this would seem like a low number, and most had assumed Erikur had lost. But it was the _opposite. _The people and residents of Solitude voted, but their votes were never counted. It was the shopkeepers, Lords and Nobles, and anyone whose allegiance was worth something to the city that's votes was taken seriously.

And that was where Erikur had won. With Falk Firebeard in prison, only Thane John and Thane Bryling had opposed him, and they were far behind. John had received fifteen votes, whereas Bryling had only won five. It did not truly matter who had the least. They both lost, and Erikur had won.

_Elenwen's plan has finally paid off. _Erikur had doubted it at first, but soon he realized that it was foolish to question her. The Elven woman had proved herself the greatest of allies in these times. She had removed Elisif, lined Erikur up with the greatest military force in Tamriel, and secured him the seat of the Jarl of Solitude. And as he had finally taken his seat at the court, in the spot he had coveted for so long, nothing felt better.

His first morning as Jarl was luxurious. He had woken later than usual, as he did not have Elisif or Falk Firebeard summoning him earlier in the morning for some menial task. Not only that, but his own quarters were not only fit for a Jarl, but a King. His bed was larger than most peasants' bedrooms. And the room itself was almost as large as the Solitude court. Never had Erikur experienced this as Thane.

Still, when he woke, it was time for business. No doubt Elenwen would visit him today, as she had told him in her most recent letter. Not only that, but Falk Firebeard's trial, hosted by the temple of the Divines was also today. Erikur could not wait for then. He wished nothing more than to see Falk Firebeard fall. _But Elenwen comes first._

Which is why the first thing he did was put on a pair of new boots, clean robes fit for travel, and put the mint leaf that was on the dresser into his mouth. He could not take too long, as the Elven woman had been known for her lack of patience.

He took his time walking though; the woman would have to learn to wait. He was Jarl of Solitude now, her most valuable contact; he would be treated with respect if she wanted a healthy partnership.

He exited the Blue Palace, the guards giving him a curt nod as he passed. It was quite uncommon for the Jarl to walk the streets of his people, and Elisif was a fine example why. Yet still nobody batted an eye when they saw Jarl Erikur open the door to the outside world.

_This city is mine now. _The thought was still foreign to him when he tried to process it. He was now the most powerful man in Solitude, and held sway over dozens of guards, soldiers, and even held the lives of his citizens in his hands. It was power that almost every man on Norn would thirst for, yet not every man could handle it.

He was closer to his door soon enough. His hand grasped the doorknob and he pushed forward, the door swinging open without much of an effort. Erikur took a few steps inside, and saw the same old house that he would now no longer reside in. But it would still prove its use, as Elenwen had demanded they meet here.

He waited there for a little while. He took a seat in the chair at the end of the long dinner table, and grabbed a half-loaf of bread. It did not taste that well, perhaps it was stale. Erikur was convinced that was the case. Yet it was decent enough to tide him over until he saw the door open.

In she strode, a black cloak dragging behind her feet. He could see very little of her face, yet it was enough for Erikur to know it was her. She did not say anything except sit on the far side of the dinner table, removing the hood from her head. She looked normal, except now she looked even more stressed than before. Her eyes had numerous bags under her eyes, showing that she lacked sleep.

"I see you finally decided to show up." Erikur began.

"I have many important things on my mind currently, and you harassing me will not be one of them." Elenwen told him.

"Please forgive me if I have bothered you in the first sentence of dialogue I have graced you with." Erikur smirked, "I did as you asked, and now I'm Jarl."

"Don't forget who got you there." Elenwen said, "We have enough big-shots in this damn province. The last thing I need is someone getting spoiled by their power."

"You don't need to worry about me. I am sure I'll be as humble as ever. Perhaps instead you should worry about the Dragonborn, who now has control over the Imperial City."

"Don't remind me." Elenwen snapped, "I had thought Althalos could have held the city for longer than a day. Perhaps I had too high expectations on the Mede brother."

"Oh no, I've heard that the 'Emperor' escaped. Or at least he disappeared. The small-folk are full of their own tales. Some say the Dragonborn turned into a dragon and burnt him alive, and kept it a secret. Others say that Althalos fled during the night, and is secretly gathering his forces."

"Or none of the above." Elenwen said, "The peasants are all fools. Turning into a dragon? Preposterous! Never has such a power been in man's arsenal since Martin Septim became the avatar of Akatosh."

"That happened? I thought the Aldmeri Dominion stopped that whole mess?" Erikur joked.

"Let's not get into _that._" Elenwen said, "This conversation is going to take a turn. We have still not addressed why I have called you here."

"I'm still wondering why you made me come here. I would have preferred to stay in my sweet bed, sleeping in."

Too dangerous, too many ears that could be listening. I had thought you of all people would know that." Elenwen said, "Anyways, I have a new task for you."

"Name anything, I would be glad to help you." Erikur commented.

"I need you to become High King."

Erikur's loaf of bread had been released from his hand, falling to the ground without a thud. The stare he gave Elenwen in the eye was like nothing before. The Elven woman's facial expression did not change however; she only continued to look at him with a serious face.

"This is a funny jape." He chuckled.

"It's no jape; I need you to become High King of Skyrim."

"Please explain to me how you expect me to do that." Erikur asked.

"Contact the Jarl's of Skyrim and demand a moot." Elenwen told him, "Is it that difficult?"

"The brutish Nordic Jarls will never elect me. All they care about is honor and bravery. They are not ones to respect a business mogul such as myself. It will never work."

"Have more confidence. I am sure the Jarl's are not as stupid as that. Think about it, who could challenge you, Balgruuf? He's an overrated warrior with a bad temper who couldn't defend his own city against the Draugr. Who else is there? Igmund was killed at Markarth, rendering him out of the picture. There is nobody to oppose you."

"These Nords, they only care about their honorable code. Convincing them to elect me will be no easy thing."

"Nobody said it would be easy."

Elenwen had left him then, and Erikur spent the rest of the day in his former home. The day passed, and night would be upon them in a few hours. Falk Firebeard's trial would be coming soon, and that was something Erikur could not miss.

He journeyed the streets of Solitude, watching as a group of three children chased each other while playing a quick game of tag. Erikur would have chuckled once, but now he just watched them in silence. He turned away from them though, the Blue Palace not far away. He could see people entering, and the Jarl of Solitude quickened his pace.

"My Jarl." The two guards stationed outside the entrance each said in unison as the Jarl passed them. Erikur gave each a quick look before one had the courtesy to open the door for him, allowing the man to head inside.

More guards gave a bow when he passed by, and he continued to venture towards the court. He could hear voices farther down, and he quickly went up the stairs. When he had arrived at his destination, the Lords and Nobles gave him their greetings while he finally took his seat on the Jarl's throne. It was a comfortable seat, unlike that accursed Dragon Throne. Erikur felt bad for the Dragonborn on the inside for owning such an unbearable seat.

They were all whispering. "My Lords and Ladies, I have an announcement to make."

Each had a shocked and terrified look on their face.

Erikur tried to ignore them. "I call for a moot."

It was then that their faces changed from what they were before, to absolutely speechless. Erikur had intended to become High King? That was a thought that even he knew was preposterous, so he could not blame them.

"A moot? When?" one of the Nobles asked.

"As soon as possible. I do not mean for Skyrim to stand weakened for too long." Erikur's lie sounded better in his head than aloud.

"Bryling, tell General Rikke that she is to send a message to every Jarl in Skyrim. It shall be by the end of the week here in the Blue Palace."

"Yes, my Jarl."

Erikur laid back in his chair. The others were still whispering and talking, yet not about the moot. Erikur heard the words 'trial' often, and he realized he had almost forgotten Falk Firebeard's trial by the temple.

"My Lords and Ladies, it is time we all witnessed the trial of the traitor, Falk Firebeard. Let us go now." Erikur said.

"No, my lord." One of the Nobles said.

"No?"

"There will be no trial. They found his cell empty." The man said, "Falk Firebeard has escaped."

**New chapter, sorry i took a while. Stuff''s been going on, and i have really been struggling in Geometry, so my focus has been on that lately.**

**Hope its good to see Erikur, i think i have finally caught up his story line with the others. Originally planned it to be much better, but the story took a different turn.**

**REVIEW!**


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